#I feel like a victorian man who's seen a whole ankle

[kotakunnn]

Kaveh('s forehead) doodles

[eideticmemory]

ONLY ON CAMERA | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Matthew convinces you to film a sex tape but it really doesn’t take a whole lot of convincing.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning/Includes: Literal porn 😭 dedicated to and inspired by these gifs.

“Is it on?” you ask, tilting your head to get a good look at the clunky thing. Your eyes follow the camera back and forth, back and forth, only for Matthew to set it down in the exact spot he started.

“Yeah it’s on,” he nods, though he doesn't look at you directly. He steadies the camcorder on its tripod, instead watching you on the tiny screen. You’re wearing this dress that he’s decided must be captured on film. Memorialized. It cuts off at your thighs and the fabric is so thin that your nipples are flashing headlights. It’s off white, sheer. He would marry you in it. He would fuck you in it. And above all, what makes it so intoxicating is that you’re clearly oblivious to just how good you look. Casually propped on his bed, knees bent underneath your body, a small pout on your lips. He can’t help but break a smile, telling you, “You look so beautiful.”

Then suddenly, you’re not so oblivious anymore. Suddenly, you’re very conscious that you’re being recorded. Being watched. And so you blush, your lips curling up a shy smile. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Matthew breathes out and he licks his lips like a dog. “Such a pretty little dress.”

“Oh, this old thing?” you giggle and it sends a rush of blood to his dick. “You like it?”

“Mmmhmmm,” he hums, zooming in on your chest, panning down your body. “Show me your legs.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you take a proper seat on the bed, your legs dangling over the edge. Bashful, you watch Matthew focus the lens on your swaying feet, trailing up to your knees, zooming in on your thighs.

“I feel silly,” you tell him.

“No, baby, you’re doing so good,” he whispers, the camera now angled in on your face. Your wide and innocent eyes peering up at him. “You’re a natural.”

You smile and he captures the white in your teeth, the crinkle in your cheeks. He lingers over your collarbones, watches the air move in and out of your chest. Pushing your breasts up and down and up and down.

“Can you pull your dress up a little bit?” he murmurs, the camera slowly panning to your hips.

“Mhm,” you nod and hook your fingers underneath the hem. You push the fabric up your thighs and he stops you.

“Slower,” he watches. “Slower.”

So you slow down, inching the dress up bit by bit. You can feel the cold air pooling between your thighs, circulating over your panties. His breath catches in his throat at the sight and it’s the first time he looks at you. Not through the lens, not pictured on a tiny screen, but directly at you. Your eyes meet and it makes you so nervous that you stop what you’re doing entirely.

“You’re doing good,” he repeats. “You’re doing so good, baby. Take those off for me,” his eyes flicker between your legs. But only for a moment and then he’s looking at your pretty face. He can’t get enough of that pretty, pretty face.

“These?” you take hold of your panties, just to be sure.

“Mhm,” he nods. Again, licking his lips. He can’t help it, staring at you with his jaw agape. It makes his mouth quite dry. “Slowly.”

You duck your head as you push the seamless garment down your thighs, lifting yourself just enough that they move to your legs. “Slow down,” he says as they near your knees. “Oh yes, just like that. That’s perfect.”

They fall from your feet and Matthew pans the camera from the floor to your thighs, which you have spread just enough to leave something to the imagination. You look up at him as he zooms out, centering you in the frame.

“Should I…take my dress off, too?” you ask, so casually push one strap off your shoulder but he reacts like a victorian man who’s just seen an ankle. Sucking in a quick breath, exhaling it slowly.

“No,” he shakes his head. He flips the tiny screen around and finally - finally - he steps from behind the camera. Your heart rate increases quickly, suddenly, your eyes growing wide as he towers over you. “No, let’s keep the dress on.”

You nod. You say, “Okay,”and watch aimlessly as he kneels down in front of you. “Oh my,” you smile down at him.

He chuckles quietly, his hands planted at your side. “Give me a kiss,” he whispers to you and his mouth is already open and waiting. Begging.

So you ease your hands into his hair and lean in, gently planting your lips on his. His moan is almost immediate, vibrating against your teeth. “Come closer,” he says into your mouth and you submissively scoot down the bed, your knees locked under his arms. “Mhm,” he hums, sliding his tongue into your mouth. “Right there, that’s where I want you,” and his hands find their way underneath your dress, his clammy palms against your thighs.

You shudder, you don’t mean to, but you shudder under his touch and it’s so visceral that you have to laugh at yourself. You feel his smile mirrored against your lips.

“What are you being so shy for, hm?” Still, those hands underneath your dress. His teeth grazing your neck. Sinking into your collarbone.

“I’m not,” you run your hands down his chest. “I’m not,” you insist but you’re anxious as you undo the buttons on his shirt. You can feel his eyes lingering on your face and you avoid making contact, exhale a shaky breath as you push the clothing from his shoulders. Your hands run over his bare skin and his eyes roll to the back of his head, his neck croning back as you grab at his throat.

His mouth lands on yours as if pulled by a magnetic force, open and slimy, his hands gripping your waist. You take a strong hold of his face, etching fingerprints into his jaw, clawing at him just to keep him close. Your hands travel over his shoulders and down his back. You can feel the goosebumps on his spine. He releases the softest moan into your mouth and when he pulls himself away from you, your lips are soaked and dripping, begging to stay connected. He drops his jaw so you can spit in his mouth and you’re shy about it, but not too shy to do it. He swallows it and he smiles up at you because he knows that looked good on camera.

He sits back and it all happens so fast that when he grips onto your thighs, pulls you towards his face, all you can say is, “Oh!” And when he puts your pussy in the warmth of his mouth, it’s more like an “Ohhh.”

You nearly collapse on the bed but you brace yourself with your arm, your other hand grabbing a fistful of his hair. Matthew’s not holding back. A little bit of spit and a few swipes of his tongue and then he’s sucking on your clit, burying his face in you, starving. You squeal, the pleasure pulsing through your entire body, kicking out at the tip of your toes. You thrash against him, your legs wrap almost completely around his head but his grip on you is so tight. You’re not going anywhere.

And it’s the sounds you make that urge him on, the helplessness in your voice as he devours you, works his tongue on you, holds your firm against his mouth. You can’t stop your body from twitching. One jolt and you worry you’ll pull his hair out from the scalp but he doesn’t mind. Your hand lands on his shoulder quite harshly, a loud slap echoing throughout the room and he actually moans, grips onto you tighter as you dig your nails into his skin.

You tap him, quickly, harder than you mean to, his skin turning bright red at the force. Quivering, you whimper, “M-Matthew…fuck. Matthew.”

“Mhmmmm,” he responds, grunting as your thighs latch around his face, the sudden and deadly grip you take of his hair. The pitch in your voice rises. The subtle arch in your back rises. You call out to him again and again. And he pulls away.

You feel the loss immediately. You whine, looking down to meet his eyes and he’s grinning at you, drooling all over your thighs. He holds your wrist in his fist, planting sloppy kisses up your arm. “Should I stop?” he asks.

And you giggle. You giggle and lean into him and it’s so infectious that the both of you descend into giddy laughter. He smiles into another kiss with you, exhaling slowly as you taste yourself on his lips. You lean back, spread your legs, and watch him take hold of your thighs once again.

“I thought so,” he says and then he’s back at it.

Your body has no more fight left in it. Once Matthew starts, just slowly moving his tongue in circles, you feel the pressure building immediately. You bite down on your lip, give him a quiet, “Mhm,” and throw your head back. As you straighten yourself back up, you come face to face with the camera. You remember its presence in the room. You can see yourself trapped in the little screen in front of you. And once you see yourself, you can’t stop watching.

You run your hands down Matthew’s back, watching. Your jaw drops and your eyes get hooded but still, you’re watching. Directly to the camera, you say, “I’m gonna come.” It’s weird watching the words form in your mouth but you can’t stop them. Weird that Matthew has no idea you’re doing it, but you know it’s exactly what he’d want. “I’m gonna come, baby.”

He digs his nails into the flesh of your hips, his tongue quickening in pace, his mouth open and ready. Underneath your constant noise, he’s humming in delight, sending vibrations through your spine. You watch yourself come undone, watch the life leave your body, the way your arms struggle to hold you up any longer. And when you finally reach your peak, you give Matthew one big, loud moan as you collapse on the mattress, squeezing his head between your thighs.

Your legs get tangled and twisted, thrashing against his face but he pins your hips down, sucks you dry. You whimper, you push at his head, pull at his hair. But he doesn’t stop until he’s ready and he kisses all over your limp body. Kisses your belly through the fabric of your dress. Gropes your breasts, feels the sweat all over your skin. When he finally reaches your lips, you kiss him back as much as you can through your heavy breathing and you punctuate it with a smile.

“You still with me?” he touches your face.

You sigh softly, melting into his palm, poking your tongue out to lick his thumb. “I’m with you.”

“Good,” he kisses you. “Good. That’s my girl.” He stands up and begins to undo his pants, your eyes shamelessly focused on his crotch. His eyes are targeting your pretty, pretty face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not,” you avert your eyes, chuckling. “I’m not looking at you,” you tell him, looking away while he climbs in bed beside you. “I’m not-ah!” you exclaim, suddenly pulled into his arms.

He perches you in his lap, your legs hanging off the bed, your hands planted on his thighs to keep you in place. His arm is wrapped tight around your waist, his other hand holding your face, turning you towards him so he can kiss you. And kiss you and kiss you. Nibbling softly on his shoulder, your eyes meet on screen and he gives you a smile. “Look at you up there,” he cooes and you chuckle, innocently grinding your hips on his cock. His breath hitches in his throat, his hand slowly running down your chest and your tummy. “God, look at you.”

He releases you just enough so you can sit properly, his cock sliding into you, stretching you out so perfectly that your head falls back on his shoulder. Still, he watches you, he drinks you in, breathing heavily into your ear. “You alright?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe out, slowly rocking your hips. “Oh god, yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you squeak. “F-fuck.”

“Oh, baby,” he moans. “That’s it,” his hand wraps around your throat. “Look at the camera,” he orders and you can see him smiling the moment you do.

“There she is,” he whispers, cut off by a deep groan. “There’s my pretty girl. Hi.”

“Hi,” you pant, your hips increasing in speed, your legs buckling underneath you. You dig your nails into his skin, your strength depleting by the second. Still, you pick up the pace, watching how the ecstasy spreads across his face.

“Mhm,” he nods, tightening his hand around your throat, just a bit. “Mhm,” he whimpers. “Mhm, mhm. Oh, fuck.”

You reach back and take hold of his hair, the sweat sealing your bodies together so closely that you think you may never separate. You never want to. Your back arches against his body and he pulls you back in, bucks his hips into yours without much thought.

“Oh, baby, you’re amazing. You’re so fucking incredible. Fuck,” the praises flow out of him like he just can’t stop. He nibbles on your face and the bass of his moans sends shivers down your spine. Almost as casually, he starts to rub your clit. You cry out, instantly overstimulated, trembling so hard that you nearly fall from his lap but his arm is locked around you. “Mm-mm, you’re okay,” he rubs you softly. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Give me a kiss.”

You try. You do, but your mouth is wide open so instead his tongue wrestles with yours, he chews on your bottom lip. You grip onto his wrist, whimpering into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to rub you faster, harder, putting pressure on that one spot that makes you clamp your thighs shut. You grind your teeth together but the force is too much and all the air in your lungs is coming out in cries. Loud and uncontrollable, punctuated with a weak, “M-Matthew…mm, Matthew…”

“Yeah, baby?” and he laughs when your head rolls back. He kisses your shoulder, “You gonna come for me again?”

“Mhm. Yes. Yes,” it comes out like a mantra. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Show me,” he begs. “Show the camera. C’mon, show that pretty face.”

You sit up, making eye contact with him very briefly before you look into the camera lense, keeping the rhythm in your hips, grinding yourself against his hand. “Mm…” you whine. “Oh…I-I’m…”

“I know,” he says, cradling your face, concentrating on stimulating your clit. Watching you fall apart on screen. “I know, it’s okay. Let it out.”

You claw at his wrist, you do your best to maintain eye contact with the camera, encouraged by the way he’s watching you. Rubbing you, holding you by your throat. He feels your thighs tighten around his hand and he grunts, “Almost, baby. C’mon. Mhm, c’mon.”

Your moans come out through gritted teeth, your eyes screwed shut, your hips on autopilot. When your legs scrunch up into your body, he keeps you steady, he keeps the motion going, watching, waiting. And he keeps talking to you, “Mhm, that’s it. Just like that. Oh, let it out, baby. Give it to me,” he pleads. “Give it to me.”

You would’ve said his name again but he touches you just right, plunges into you just right and you come so hard that you forget how to speak. Nothing but a loud and deep cry, accompanied by the uncontrollable tremors that thrash through your body. Your legs kicking and kicking, your thighs crushing his hand that continues to rub you. He only stops because you fall back, out of his arms, onto the bed and then he’s laughing.

“Always drama with you, pretty lady,” he chuckles, letting you fall onto the mattress. This angle simply just won’t work so he grabs you and pulls you towards him, your side profile now fully displayed in front of the camera. “You okay?” he asks, his thumb touching your lips.

“Mhm,” you nod with two of his fingers in your mouth. You grab his wrist and then his elbow and taking the hint, he climbs on top of you with a messy kiss. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and when you put your hands on his face, refusing to let him break away, he puts his cock inside of you and the pressure makes you gasp. “Oh, fuck. You feel so good,” and it’s evident in the way he starts to pound you. Like it’s consuming him. “Oh my god.”

He buries his face in your neck and you have a good view of your feets flying around in the air. The headboard smacking into the wall. As he begins to kiss all over your jaw, you moan and look over at the camera. You flash it with a great big smile, your arms wrapped tight around Matthew’s shoulders, the dirty sounds of his echoing around your skull.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so close.”

���Yeah, my love?” you run your hand through his hair.

He props himself up, boxing you in between his arms so he can stare at you. You touch his chest and you can feel his breathing nearly stop. “Mhm,” he whimpers, nuzzling his nose into yours. “Just keep looking at me. Look at me, baby.”

And you give him the same smile you’d given the camera, so big and bright that he can’t help but smile in return. “Yes, pretty girl. Just like that,” and he inches closer to you, the rough movement in his hips getting sloppier, jagged. “Oh [y/n], baby,” he moans. “I’m gonna come. Oh, you’re so good. You’re so good. Fuck.”

You reach for him, you want to hold him but he pulls back, pulls his cock out of you and looks you in the eye as he makes a big mess on your stomach. You can’t tear your eyes away from him but you feel the warmth soaking through your rumpled clothes and your jaw drops in shock. Panting, you watch his head roll back and his mouth wide open while he groans, his hand tugging at his leaky cock.

You huff and look down at your body, exclaiming, “My dress!”

His face, beating bright red, looks you up and down and all he has to say for himself is, “Oopsie?”

You kick him gently and he cackles, pushing your leg out of the way so he can lay on top of you, kiss you. And kiss you. And kiss you. He grins as he turns his attention back to the camera, “Well. Take a bow.”

You giggle and, as much as you can while trapped underneath him, you sway your arm dramatically. That’s all the bow you can muster. He kisses your cheek and the camera keeps rolling. It captures at least another fifteen minutes of nothing but you, Matthew, your dress and your mouths. Constantly connected.

[soul-likeasecretinyourthroat]

Guys I’ve won. It’s official.

WE ARE DATINGGGGG AAAAAAA

As of yesterday, September 24 th 2024, we have been together for 1 WHOLE MONTH

I still can’t believe he’s mine and I’m his 🤭 just the other day I met one of his new college friends and he introduced me to them as his girlfriend 😭🎀 literally MARRY ME ALREADYYYYY PLEASE!!!!!

My great wingman Morgan (gotta give credit where credit is due) put pressure on my bf to like make a move and ask me out because he was “tired of hearing me talking about him 24:7 and wondering when he will ask me out” 🤭

He asked me out 3am on the 24th of August, after we had hung out all evening after the football game / marching band gig 🤭

I was at his house til like 1:30am watching mob psycho 100 and Ouran High School Host Club, and then he dropped me off at my place. When he got home he asked me over text if I was free the following morning. I said yes (even though I wasn’t sure if I actually was bc I couldn’t ask my mom who was asleep lolll, I would make time) and then he asked after that “Date?”

That singular word filled me up with so much joy and happiness that I actually went outside and ran around the block barefoot in my pajamas because I was tweaking so harddddd

Our first date was breakfast, we had French toast w strawberries and maple syrup. We went thrifting and he tried on these waist size 52 jeans and he could put both his legs into one side of them 😂

Anyway, it has been a WHOLE FUCKING MONTH SINCE HE ASKED ME TO BE OFFICIAL AAAAAAAUGH IM LITERALLY CRYING I CANT BELIEVE I CAN FINALLY CALL HIM MY BOYFRIENDDDEDDD EEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I feel like a Victorian era man seeing a woman’s ankles and perhaps knees for the first time and dying from the beauty.

Even though he is living like 45 mins away I still see him on the weekends, and that’s why we have phones to call on and text and send funny photos

This past weekend, on both Friday and Saturday nights, we hung out together from like 7pm til 1:30am and on Saturday like 4:30pm - 2:00am watching Ouran High School Host Club, cuddled so close to each other that my sweatshirt I wore smells like him and now it’s my favorite one to ever have 🤭

On Friday night after marching band / football and after culvers, we go back to his place. We were both chilly, and as we leave to go into his house I grab my sweatshirt from the trunk of my car and he asked “what r u grabbing?” And I said “sweatshirt, I’m a bit chilly :)”

And then once we get settled in the basement, he literally says “one sec lemme go grab something” and he grabs His own blanket From His Bed and puts it in the dryer to warm it up, Waits a couple minutes, and then comes over by me on the couch and covers us both with it and snuggles up close on my right side so that my whole right and his whole left side were touching and aughhhhhh I’m in love.

Like that was so sweet right there.

I miss my wife, but soon this Sunday, I want to bring him up north to meet my bestie Bella, and to go swimming in my favorite lake with me surrounded by my favorite and familiar places and faces 🤭

I just thought I should update the blr because like you guys have at least seen my blog mention this mans and my woes, least I could do is feed you some scraps 🤭

[whwie]

uni life is fine! I don't think I'm going to document whatever happened over the break bc I learned and I'm gonna grow from it.

anyways back in uni and bc I've been away from my uni crush cuz winter break, I was chilling but now I see him often enough again.

I'm trying to distance myself from him, like the first 2 days back into the friend group I was like fine interacting with him and then idfk smth in me remembered, oh u like him? liked him? idk idk.

I find myself being like oh he's cute and finding little moments of jealousy or envious. and it's like girl ugh ur obvious again :/

and he probably knows.

He is alone studying tonight in our communal lounge and I thought "omg this is the time to yk hang with him" but no that's so obvious.

Simp moment time: he's wearing a white tank top and I'd never seen that until today, and i dont think other ppl have too in our uni friend group (other than his sister). That's what caused my brain to be like omg stay with him while he studies tonight. I was so blindsided by what he was wearing (feeling like I'm no better than straight man when they see a girl wearing only a sport bra), that like when he mentioned he just came out of shower, I was like "wait what ur hair doesn't look wet" internally. Because I was paying attention to his shoulders too much.

WTF AM I A VICTORIAN MAN SEEING A WOMANS ANKLE FOR THE FIRST TIME??

I'm such a teenage girl bro.

When i saw him alone and he didn't notice me when I opened the door, because he was vibing to music. I immediately wanted to sneak up on him and spook him by grabbing his shoulders. GIRL THAT WHITE TANK TOP UR SO STUPID ITS LITERALLY JUST A SHIRT BRUH.

HE FUCKING NOTICED ME SNEAKING UP ON HIM BC OF THE WINDOW, IM SO PISSED THAT HES OBSERVANT.

bro like I'm physically affection with my friends of any genders, but with him I like refused to idk whyyyy (that's what makes it obvious and Ik, he knows that) but like me sneaking up on him tonight was my only chance to be somewhat normal and show him he's a friend of mine.

Fuck bro this whole post is just me confirming I still like him, like after tonight and that stupid stupid littlest interaction.

ugh I'm so dumb to think I'd be over a crush. I hold onto them long :///

should I go back to the lounge to get a glimpse of him again with the excuse to fill up my humidifier? who knows! I'll update on that in my next post, maybe about him (most likely about him, seeing how this post is turning out)?

[sugar-petals]

sub!Yuzu | nsfw alphabet

🌹 NOTE ⇢ content for our fave figure skater, the legend himself. mr. yuzuru hanyu is 1000% dom candy and i’m here to honor it at length ⛸

— WORDS. 5k

tags + warnings. dom/sub dynamics, femdom!reader, role reversal hc, smut, kinks, cum play, spanking, sex toys, very freaky yuzu, kitten play, mdlb, crying kink, food play, prostate orgasms, bondage, some deeper stuff & angsty bits, asthma mention, aftercare

  A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Once the cat ears come off, who is Yuzuru Hanyu not to remain in character for a while. For the shits and giggles, and because it’s cozy. Once a catboy, always a catboy, it’s the law of the land. Curling up, kneading at you for the head pats and massages, you know the programme. 

Also: Yuzu is famously soft-spoken and always finds the right thing to say. So, stimulating conversation for the cooldown. This is literally so nice. He’s unafraid to reflect everything in detail, say what he preferred, what you could change up together, what he wants to try next. The afterglow is not just physical, as in you give him something to drink, it’s 70% verbal which is very important to him as a consistent habit.

Of course, not to forget: Always gotta have a Winnie Pooh plushie ready. He embraces it readily and, as we know him, does some roleplay right then and there. Yuzu, professional cutiepie he is, is the kinda sub who treats all plush and pillow stuff as alive and breathing. You as his domme are in on the play and also treat his things as holy as they are to him. That Yuzu lets you into that world is the biggest compliment you can possibly get. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

We all know Yuzu’s godly ass and thighs. Or the staggering waist and beautiful black hair that makes him a total bombshell in his classic comb-back styles. His face is soft and expressive and so damn unique, his legs muscular and long, his back and tummy chiseled, the list goes on and on. Jesus, he has so many great features. All body parts a masterpiece. That are all capable of god-tier contortionism on top of that, gotta mention it in passing. Just so you know if you haven’t seen him bend his every limb into directions you wouldn’t believe are humanly possible. 

Interestingly though. If he chooses, Yuzu picks his feet: They are his most important instrument and weak spot. His ankles are where the magic happens. So, you taking care of them a little would mean the world to him, imagine a candle light massage. Not to worry, no-gross-alert. Yuzu has perfect and cute feet. That’s gonna be a Victorian moment, oh my god I saw his ankles. For his partner, short and simple: He likes a shoulder to lean on. He loves being touchy in general, all body parts are amazing to him. Being in a profession that’s all about the physics, Yuzuru knows about the wonders of the body.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Certified king of cumsluts, doesn’t even hesitate. The more, the merrier. If he’s not covered in sticky stuff, Yuzu would be underchallenged. It’s less about the taste, texture or any degradation, for him it’s the playing around with his tongue. Somebody wants his mouth preoccupied. Give the cat his milk. Feed him his own cum mixed with yours. He’s gonna lap at it and swallow.

Since Yuzu’s dream is a mommy domme baking him something, he just loves the smell of dough and hazelnuts and cinnamon and everything — you know what’s coming: Imagine the food play. Nuts indeed. Anything that even remotely looks like a creampie is something he wants to get his lips on. And Yuzu is not the type to be a foodie at all, let that sink in. Sexual-looking food is just too big a temptation, though. And you spoiling him that way... oh my. Surefire way to end up in bed right after. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has a butt plug collection. Once almost went on the ice with one in. The more you know. Also— this guy is the kinda type fantasizing to get absolutely railed on a bed of plushies. He has troubles suggesting it to you because he doesn’t want them to get actually dirty. But the idea gets the two of you kind of horny. Sometimes, a thought is better as a fantasy than actually executing it. You can use it for riling up’s sake, whispering it to him during dirty talk. How you’ll bounce on him and ruin him and milk him while he’s splayed out so innocently on your bed. I smell corruption kink. 

Another secret Yuzu keeps is just how much he changed his mind about wanting his partner to control everything in bed. He grew up with a pre-defined ideal type of a cute, nice skater girl who’d let the reins very loosely around him, who he can speak Japanese to because he had problems with English, who is small and someone he will protect. It wasn’t something based on experience and trying things out: It was simply expected of him. People wanted the domineering Yuzuru on ice to be that way in private, and make use of his power, be a man, savior, boss. 

The reality being: He never felt truly as tough on the ice, nor was he gender-conforming in person. In fact, that is what he became famous for, and it reassured Yuzuru very often how people would accept and actually celebrate this side of him. Which is so refreshing, and a sight to see. The side that was dorky, clingy, childish, gorgeous, and cute has always been there, but now he embraces it more as his comfort place. He has to know what he’s doing in his skating programme and show competitive spirit to achieve his dreams, but that’s where it stops.

His former ideals are something people wanted to hear, it was an adaptation of the environment rather than thinking it through on his own. So, years later — oh boy have things changed. Yuzuru no longer defines his ideal type that way, saying whoever he likes is someone he’d be with. What was a fantasy template and filter is now gone and adapted to his newfound, own preferences. Yuzu is comfortably open-minded rather than being a copy to mainstream. He found fun in speaking English, opened up to the world at large, had more girls around him who he could befriend, grew more confident in his stature, and is well aware — turns out he’s the cute one. Who needs to be taken under a wing. He likes strong-minded girls and says if he had a wife, she’d dominate him. Yuzuru secretly wants her to be in charge entirely, she owns his body and soul. Not in daily life where things are just normal and everyone goes about their business. Sexually, where he surrenders instead, and is taken care of.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The tale of an introvert. What he knows — he hides it well. Has eyefucked a whole lot of people and is the type to lust like mad from a far distance, and nobody will ever know. Crushes harder than peppercorns in a mill. If he loves someone, it lingers in his mind every split second of the day, may god have mercy on him. And if you know him: Yuzu aims too high to keep it light and easy and clumsy. He hates being an amateur, he’s terrified of starting out something. He dreads not knowing what to do, how exactly to behave, talk, touch, breathe, respond, negotiate, prepare. That’s a hundred percent like hell to him.

Ironically, he has a natural feeling for it and he’s literally amazing in bed, has a sense for social interaction is all the way cute with something valuable to say. But what he believes is something way different. Yuzuru is a diehard, nervous perfectionist. He can only think of it as a rated performance since his mind usually has to work that way to skate well. His esteem is on a knife edge depending on how well he thinks he does. So, the inevitable: He will shy away from sex altogether. He draws immense skating passion from staying celibate, in fact it’s his success secret, but it still eats him up from the inside and makes him frustrated beyond measure. Not even for the pleasure, since he’s so ambitious that’s almost forgotten about, but for being told he did well. 

That’s how much he believes sex is a drill and capability test. And it’s sad that he thinks it’s like his skating career, racking up points for the impossible things judges want and being in a deadlock when it comes to showing his artistic side. He feels thrown into cold water if he doesn’t know everything beforehand. If he ever works up the courage, which probably won’t happen, he will pay an expert to learn from rather than let something all over the place happen with a random person or even someone he might like. 

Yes, you heard that right. He’d rather see a sex worker than ‘mess up’ his first time according to his sky-high standards. So, Yuzu’s experience remains limited since he’s so 100% do or die, and so anxious, and so torn about social interaction, he doesn’t get how his peers can be playboys and get married and flirt with someone they like and all that. He sort of has an easier time with guys, but girls... he can’t approach. To top it off, he also feels like he’d burden his first time one somebody or embarrasses himself, so he will reject and avoid suitors. Those are usually not the people he crushes so hard on to begin with. It’s bound to be one-sided and he knows, so he will abstain and focus on career and use the cheers of his fans as a substitute.

Truth is, he feels helpless and distant from sex sometimes, especially with his practice-heavy lifestyle and hyper-smart mind, Yuzuru has an intelligence that exceeds what most people can grasp. He’s alone on the ice and Brian as a coach is often the only reference person who truly gets him, and leads him well without being controlling. But that’s professional life. Sexually, Yuzuru is metaphorically: coachless. He surely observed it well when Javier (the #1 ladies man, his opposite) was still active and a social butterfly helping him fit in, but Yuzu would always be worried about his extreme fame and spotless image when introduced to someone fangirling over him. He’d rather prefer someone who comes across as a mentor and solid, loyal-to-death person to look up to. So he would do anything to have someone benevolent like that. Most girls would expect him to be the sex god and expert, but he knows that’s only half of the story and based on his characters on the ice. Yuzu crafts these to counterbalance how he really is — withdrawn and indirect. 

Yuzu is extremely calculating and selective, he scans suitors well, protects his reputation, and is mortified of failure. So, he’d rather learn it by the book and from someone he’s not emotionally attached to. In a one-night stand that might also be the case, but he doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s absolutely terrified of sudden sexual vulnerability. He himself often says he values his own struggle between feeling so weak and being strong again 

Besides: He’d have problems squeezing hookups into his schedule and lifestyle, he’d have to cut down on things and create a double life. Plus, Yuzu is famously inept with social interaction up close, he flees the noise and unpredictability. So, it’s better to have a long-term partner. If he doesn’t know something yet, he has it down in one day like the single axel. Definitely counts on his partner teaching him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

We know Yuzu’s signature move is the lean-back Ina Bauer. So, whatever position allows for an arch is the real deal (cough, taking the strap — oh my god his ass is made for it). But anyway, he can pull off anything with that stellar flexibility and core strength. 

If I think about it. Yuzu might like sitting on your lap very much. I know it’s not a sex position, I mean it can be once his inner lapdancer awakens or you use a strap-on, I rather mean... just for some sweet moments and making out. But yeah: Fathom Yuzu gyrating on your like that. Not in an outright lascivious manner or Chippendales style. The Hanyu way, with embellishments and all the grace. This is gonna be a huge turn-on and perfect foreplay position.  

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not much to elaborate here: Yep, Yuzu is true goofball indeed. Really flustered and clumsy when eye-to-eye in missionary, and yet: He’s ultra serious towards the end, there’s gonna be an aggressive staredown before cumming. The feeling gets pretty intense, his duality between silly and ‘yeah, give it to me’ is no joke.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Would probably die from inflammation if he shaved clean under those tight suits and did all these chafe-heavy skating routines. Doesn’t have a lot of body hair to begin with, but for pits and pubes, it’s alive, wild, and decently long. Out of all people, Yuzu cares particularly about aesthetics, but in this case pragmatism will prevail. He doesn’t care too much about it either as long as it doesn’t get in the way of something. Having sex with Yuzu tends to be well um well all about a hundred types of friction so any stubble would be a bad idea.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You haven’t seen a guy in love like that. It’s a figure skater thing for sure. Since he works to portray these sentiments on the ice daily, hardly anybody can play up feelings so delicately and palpably like Yuzuru. Emotion is what his entire career is built on. He knows how to express himself directly, appropriately, intimately. Couldn’t be any more romantic. Yuzu can’t go without it. 

Very passionate, ‘for your eyes only’ kind of atmosphere. Yes, he shows off on the ice, it’s his job (although of course, that word doesn’t really sum up what skating means to him). But private Yuzu is someone you can claim as yours. He will make it clear, he wants to belong to you, he’s yours, dedicated, devotion is the entire point. Less with a slant of what some subs like, very hands-on ownership of a mistress. It’s more emotional. He’s really attached and all smitten. Your private little haven is everything to him. 

Talking about little: Yuzu can be quite a pillow prince sometimes. At least when the initiative doesn’t go back and forth as it frequently does, you often alternate with suggestions and ways of tweaking an ongoing play session. You blindfold him or tie his wrists, He might be standard tired from practice or just fascinated to watch you work your magic on him. 

He also likes music to set the tone for intimacy, who’s surprised. Prepare: Yuzu likes dramatic classical music all the way. He’s probably one of the few people who can make it more than ‘classy’ and definitely more than cringe. He selects pieces very well. This is gonna be a practice template to cum together when the music reaches its peak. Makes the whole thing full of adrenaline.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Lots of fun to him. Would beat it 24/7 if the ice wasn’t calling him. Drowns himself in lube. This guy’s me-time is so rated R, Cardi B would be inspired to remix WAP to wet ass penis as an anthem just for him. A dry dick is a ruined day for Yuzuru, as is a session without teasing his prostate in whatever way he currently fancies. Once he tried it, he never went back. The intensity knocking him out is something that Yuzu thinks about all the time. Strokes like a pro, does all these little moans, can do it forever, loves the feeling, chases the high. Adrenaline junkie on the ice? No different with his hand around his cock. 

Will masturbate everywhere in the house and has to really get his head in the game to make sure he won’t ruin any carpets. So, he always has at least two towels with him. In the kitchen, in front of the TV, in the shower, the bed. Watches his fair share of eclectic porn, he gets really desperate. Especially before you started dating, Yuzu would shut himself in until the lotion ran out. Can jack off to something romantic (he starts crying) or something extreme (he loves shocking himself and ). 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Very curious about sadomasochism. Googles a lot of things that make him hard during the day. Often jawdropped by his research, but once he tries things out with you, nothing can really shock him anymore. Absolutely wants to be collared, it’s his biggest fantasy. Another little secret he has, Yuzu is decked out in skating gloves, right. He wishes he could feel you wearing them, or he keeps them on for sex himself, the lacey transparent ones. Looks especially pretty when his wrists are tied so, major photograpy material. Oh yes, Yuzu likes the camera, he can work it. The guy is photogenic in any position and can strike any angle you want. Your phone background is a new Yuzu snapshot every week already, imagine your gallery, 5800 kinky pictures.  

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I’m gonna say it. The frozen lake out of town, late at night, condoms and lube with you. A quickie that will leave your genitals frozen. Yuzu might get stuck inside you because it’s -15 Celsius. Call that fantasy on ice. Jokes aside: Come on, Yuzu is the biggest ever hermit homebody. The couch will have a bunch of indents after your week-long fucking sessions after he comes home training. Also, at his desk while he does work for university. You ride him, Yuzu studies. Double the ambition. His dick is completely sore. The lake out of town thing might go down, but without sex. Just skating together under the stars, Yuzu doing amazing spins and spirals around you, very very romantic.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Yuzu is a crazed Sagittarius. Have you seen these men? They just want it all. Must be the influence of Jupiter. Zeus was definitely vibing that way. And yes, Yuzu has borderline unhealthy gold medal thinking in bed. He wants to be not just good but damn good with pleasing you. If you don’t have a good time and head home without an orgasm, he’ll consider himself a failure. Yuzu won’t cut himself any slack there. You’d have a hard time changing his ways into something more chill and moderate. Instead, you will see the benefits of rolling with it once you see how improvement fuels him and does make sex really mindblowing.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Couldn’t do things like slapping you, spanking. Yuzu makes for a terrible daddy dom, it’d not suit him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Cum-dripping oral mess, Yuzu is the brave kind. Totally into it, and can’t resist a good blowjob. Will act different afterwards, there’s a lot of erotic tension. “This evening again?” is what those eyes are saying.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Outstanding kinesthetic intelligence. Every inch of his body follows his intent, and yours if you have him take on certain ways of kneeling. Yuzu can do it all, whatever you want. Tantalizing, moderato, overwhelmingly fast. He can take it, he can portray it. And knows the value of a pause like a true connoisseur. Not just when he wants to prevent cumming early, also just because the moment is right. That’s why cockwarming is a staple, as well as you having him wait patiently for kisses. To top it off: If you give him a blowjob, building up the tension by doing nothing is damn effective. The ruined orgasms you’re gonna give him... delicious.

Everything’s gonna have nice transitions as well, no awkward climbing and rolling and tangling limbs. If he gets something from another room that you need, no slouching. The university course as good as the extracurricular activities. Being inconsistent with any subsidiary details? Not in the Hanyu household, he’s keeping it classy. Yuzu feels like if he makes the bridges to new positions even remotely messy, the feeling is killed and it’s as if he’d break character mid-skate. Although he’ll have to practice and refine and test a lot of things because he’s not super experienced and adapting to your own movements is an individualized thing to do, he’s a masterclass of quality, period.

Even when things get fast and heated, nothing feels off. Having that kind of body smartness also means: Yuzu learns by touch, whatever you do. He knows by the way you pull his hair what comes next. How much saliva drips off your tongue when you suck at his neck, he knows how hard you’ll to ravage him in five minutes. This guy observes things you aren’t even conscious of because his physical understanding is just so fine-tuned.

The sense of rhythm, and every skating programme of him will showcase that, unbeatable. Unless his mood is really impacted by something severe, your guy feels it in every bone. He’s an artist, after all, he listens to music all the time. Dissecting rhythms to turn them into movement is what his line of work is all about. The pace will always fit the mood. Everything is precise, but never crude. Instead, the way he moves is dictated by an inherent flow. With little accents that match right with any thrust, like putting his hands on your sides when you’re on top of him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hit it Shakira: Whenever, wherever! He seemingly carries an entire condom factory with him. Or, to be more exact: At least three of them.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

This one’s a complicated case. Yuzu being reckless on the ice may or may not mirror in your private life. He might need some downtime, so bring out the soft domme stuff. No trial and error stuff, just going through a routine of things you love the most. On the other hand, he always gives it all. This guy’s endurance at your hands is amazing. Advanced kinds of BDSM he will not feel deterred from at all. Rough toys, anal hooks, sounding, whips, why not is Yuzu’s motto. But then again. He has such a confusing mix of innocence and feeling like he’s completely hardcore. You might end up experimenting a lot, but also not daring the leap sometimes because the mood is different. And then rather go for softer hours, where Yuzu will be all shy shy and more bursting with excitement than ever. A good, interesting mix is what I’m saying.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Yuzuru, once he gets a bit of practice to gauge the situation... Viagra on two legs, absolute unexpected powerhouse. You might end up pondering to work out a little and go for a run because this guy is in a consistently outstanding shape to say the least. Olympic athletes are literally hard to fuck with. And since Yuzu is starfishing sometimes (which is very adorable), or he’s in bondage for some time, that presents a further problem: For a second round, he’s full of energy, while you already spent energy. So, you alternate with who’s active, and the other leans back entirely. He has to remind himself since his body is programmed for it: This is no contest — the point is feeling good.

You might ride him reverse cowgirl all the way while you watch TV, and after the overstimulation fades he will eat you out ad nauseam, full course slobbering, sweeping the whole menu. That way, it’s less about keeping up with him, which would be hard for most people not doing sports at his galactic level. He understands, Yuzu knows he’s not normal in that regard, you don’t have to worry. Some exercise still doesn’t hurt, just to further increase the quality of sex anyway.

Then again: Why go jogging and do some laps wasting valuable together time when Yuzu’s lap is the best workout? And running doesn’t guarantee your stamina in bed is perfect even if it does help. You rather wanna manage how to draw out the arousal. It’s a self-control thing, with the goal of having you match up in every aspect as good as you can. In which case, you can count on him to pull it off: Have you seen Yuzu doing jumps side by side with a bunch of female skaters? Copy paste. This guy knows how to synchronize with the ladies.

Something that has to be mentioned beside that, though. Yuzu has asthma since 2 years old, and it’s often a mind thing to him still these days. He doesn’t let it stop him from sleeping with you because as always, he’s not letting anything get in his way. He has learned to live and thrive with it. But you both have to mind the possibility of an attack, he prevents it with inhalers, and the mood plays a crucial role. Yuzu being comfortable and confident is so important to his breathing, and keeping a good rhythm rather than being chaotic in bed. So, you will plan most of your sexual activities rather than improvising. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Would stuff an entire sex shop into his every available orifice. Yuzu is a toy freak, he wants to try everything. Motto: a new one every day. Well, almost. But he can afford it. Buys stuff he uses solely on himself, things you use on him, things he uses solo and you use on him, and as the cherry on top, every possible high end vibrator on the market for you. Any size, too. This bitch will browse through the latest innovations, prepare to get off. He’s obsessed with seeing you use it on yourself. Yuzu owns a separate phone just for videos of you buzzing your clit, and him fingering you for minutes and minutes. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Extremely so. Loves to be a total brat only to get put into his place. He does it so you’ll pull the chin grab on him. He likes getting choked out as a punishment as well. Yuzu also tends to be very around the corner if you will when it comes to soft subbing, he lays over expecting cuddles but doesn’t say so. Buds his head against your chest, nuzzles, and so on. Lighter forms of teasing come to him very easily. Loves to prompt. Roughhousing, banter, favorite thing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moderately loud because his voice is very very light, but unsurprisingly — he’s just beautiful. What a nice tone. Gorgeous whimpering sounds. And when you go hard on him, voice cracks! And really heavy breathing. What’s gonna be the most striking though is his expressiveness. We know it from the ice and interviews, and he can really amp it up even further. No need for screaming, that face will speak the volumes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You’ll be blessed with him if you have a huge crying kink. Yuzu definitely opens the waterworks every other week in bed. Happy tears, horny tears, relief tears, aftercare tears, orgasm tears, masochist tears, romantic tears, subspace tears, he has it all. He also begs for the type of pain that makes it stream down his face for minutes. He’s touchy-feely all the way and feels like he can really connect with you that way.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His ass twitching is kind of a spectacle, but I don’t have to tell you, do I. Yuzu has muscles for the gods in there. So voluptuous, you can’t call it any other way. Big booty boyfriend, Jesus you can show him off, he loves it. Around the house, he will flaunt them big ole athlete buns in particular, acting like it’s unintended. Um, Yuzu, those are joggings. Smack it, he is sure to moan. 

And may I respectfully mention as well — this guy has some major big ass balls figuratively and literally. How else would someone be motivated to jump a triple axel like it’s nothing. Not kidding, they’re big and round and ugh. His love for tight pants doesn’t help. He knows what your eyes like and dresses just to flex the goods. Screams for more spanking and pinching if you ask me. Yuzu is definitely serving it. Well-endowed, you lucky girl.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mega horny, ready when you are. On a scale from zero to hundred? Breaching into the 90 percent right there. Yuzu’s hormones are literally insane. On paper he’s 26, but his dick wants the 18th birthday party. Jesus is he gonna be clingy when he’s in the mood. All wrapped around you in a backhug in the kitchen or when you iron a costume of his, and that’s sexy of him. He’s not gonna hide what’s filling out those sweatpants. He’ll desperately grind up against you like it’s Christmas.

Paired with his puppy eyes and little “Do you have some time... I’ll iron this tomorrow” — instant pounce. He’s admittedly a bit hard to keep up with sometimes, though. The reason: With that level of exercise, he has major pent-up energy. That machine is definitely running. Heavy sports changes your hormones, nervous system, and especially blood flow. Now take that to the scale of his performances and regimens? That equals a firework of horny. No wonder he masturbates all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Takes some time. He cools down, sweats it out, chugs water. However, don’t underestimate how tired Yuzu can already be. His daily routines and competitions have a toll on him. Ironically, he’s not a deep sleeper, however. Yuzu might toss and turn and have sudden energy bursts, or ideas, or gets hungry. So, he needs his plushies, he needs a weighted blanket, warm pajamas, a hot cup of his favorite warm drink, a light snack, and you by his side. Spooning him excessively and sometimes even humming to him. Yuzu looks like a certified angel on his pillow, his well-deserved rest from everything is so important, too.

NOTE - hope i could indulge you, thank you for reading!

© 2017-2021 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. depictions fictional.

[novelconcepts]

fic: walking with the lady

Every movie, every book, every story about the horrors of letting in the ghosts has prepared Dani for the constant state of alarm. The panic. The discomfort of the situation.

Not a single goddamn one told her how stupid it would be.

***

The first time Viola Lloyd rears her spectral head outside of a dream, Dani is doing her best to enjoy an incredibly pleasant spring morning. She’s been having strange thoughts--strange echoes of night terrors that have been escalating, images weaving as though shot from the depths of some great ocean--for a few months now. Has been trying her very best to take Jamie’s advice and not worry about it. One day at a time. Stop gazing into every reflective surface in the county and just...live. 

And she’s been doing that, she thinks, with a decent amount of peaceful abandon for a woman carrying an unknown beast in the depths of her psyche. She’s traveled. She’s seen much of America, and more of Jamie. She’s learned she’ll never get any better at tea, that she’s honestly not terrible at pasta, that she can talk the ear off old women who just want to stop and smell the flowers. It’s been a serene six, seven, eight years, if she lays them all end to end, and she’s glad of it. 

But the dreams are coming faster now. With more regularity. Long stretches of night fade into black and white, into memories she can feel with her whole body, but knows aren’t her own. Corsets and sweeping skirts, a sister she never had, a husband. A child. None of this belongs to Dani, so it must be her, mustn’t it? 

It scares her. She talks about it to Jamie when she wakes--sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the middle of the night; whether she’s truly awake or not, Jamie always listens. They always hunker back down, holding tight to one another, Jamie whispering into her hair that you’re still here, you’re still you, it’s all okay, Poppins. It helps, as much as anything’s going to. 

What doesn’t help is sitting here on this park bench, a list of shopping plans open in her lap, and hearing--hearing isn’t even the right word for it, it’s like a ringing voice coming up from the very back of her head--someone say, “And what on earth is that?”

Dani sits straight upright, every line of her body rigid with fear. “What...is what?”

She’s said the words out loud, she realizes when an elderly man with a basket of stale bread turns slowly to look at her. Her mouth twists itself into a rictus grin of apology, and he shuffles off, looking very much like a man prepared for his own murder at the hands of a lunatic schoolteacher. 

“Well,” the voice says, coolly amused. “That was embarrassing for us both.”

What, Dani thinks, the fuck is going on?

“What’s going on,” Viola Lloyd’s deep, accented voice says, “is truly beyond my knowledge. Do you know the last time I had this many thoughts of my own? Must have been...oh, three hundred years, now...”

Why, Dani thinks furiously, are you having them now?

“I certainly couldn't say.” Viola sounds astonished. “The last I recall, I was trying to reclaim my child--”

Flora, Dani interrupts with a rush of anger, was not your child. 

She imagines she can feel Viola’s hand flip to and fro, carelessly. “It’s all apples in the end, isn’t it?”

She’s clenching her fists in her lap, she realizes, as if there’s anything to fight. As if she could ward Viola off from inside her own body. 

“Oh,” Viola says coolly, “I wouldn’t worry just yet. I couldn’t say for sure--it’s all rather new, you must understand--but I don’t think I could do anything to you. Not yet. Look, here, I’ll try...”

Dani’s muscles strain against an invisible force that never comes. Viola chuckles. 

“See? Nothing. The lights are on, my dear, but none but you is really home.”

Then why are you awake? Dani demands. 

“Not a clue, darling. It’s nice, though, isn’t it? You really take it for granted in life.”

Take what for--

“Seeing,” Viola breathes. “I haven’t seen anything properly in centuries. I’d forgotten how bright the world was. How full of...color.”

Is it Dani’s imagination, or does Viola’s tone hold an edge of disgust on that final word?

“So, again, I find myself asking. What on earth do you call that?”

Dani allows instinct to turn her head, somehow sensing the direction Viola wishes for her to look. She finds herself staring at a young child playing at her mother’s feet. 

I--it’s... And it’s here, in this moment, faced with the nearly impossible task of explaining to the 400-year-old ghost woman who shares her body what a Slinky is for that Dani Clayton decides this whole cohabitation thing might have been a mistake. 

***

“Hang on,” Jamie says. “Hang on, she’s awake in there?”

Dani, folded nearly double on their couch with her face in her hands, nods. Her head is pounding. Viola has been, ah, what’s the polite way to put it? Running her mouth. For nearly four hours. 

“She’s got some...opinions,” Dani mumbles into her cupped hands. Jamie stops rubbing light circles into her back, curious. 

“About what?”

“Might be a shorter list, to ask what she doesn’t have an opinion about,” Dani says. At the back of her head, she feels Viola cross her arms. 

“This sounds like you are on the path to impudence, Miss Clayton.”

“But hang on, I thought--” Jamie seems to be choosing her words carefully. “I thought she was just sort of...in there. Tucked away, like the kids said. What do you mean she can see?”

Dani blows out a long breath, wishing dearly for a cigarette. “I don’t know, Jamie, I’m not the authority on carrying Victorian women around in my skull.”

“Bit nearer to it than me, Poppins.” Jamie’s smiling, plainly trying to make her feel better. Dani turns to glower at her. 

“I love you very much. Please don’t test me right now. She hasn’t stopped talking for more than twenty minutes all afternoon.”

Jamie raises her hands in surrender. “Can she...can she see me now?”

“Tell her,” Viola says. “Tell her I can see her, and her mannishly-inappropriate hairstyle.”

“I will not be saying that,” Dani mutters. Jamie raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you having a conversation now? What’s she saying?”

“Please let her know I find her insistence upon men’s trousers silly at best, her blouses are entirely too loose, and I am bewildered by the wealth of ankle she seems to find appropriate in mixed company--”

“She says you have a nice smile,” Dani says. Jamie’s eyebrows raise to her hairline. Viola makes a horrible little noise of revulsion.

“How dare you place words in my mouth!”

“You are absolutely not telling me the truth, are you?” Jamie says in the same moment. Dani groans.

“Aspirin. I am going to need so much aspirin.”

***

It’s not all the time, thankfully; Dani thinks she’d go mad if Viola were truly there at all hours, yammering away about silks and petticoats and the good old days when a person could just drop dead of the plague with no notice. Sometimes, Viola even goes days at a stretch without saying a word, as though she’s sunk back to sleep in whatever little corner of Dani’s mind she calls a bedroom. 

And then, like a thunderstorm, she emerges once more. Usually with something snappy and irritating to share with Dani.

“Are we really wearing that?”

“There is no we, Viola,” Dani grumbles. She’s in the process of trying to choose between a flower-patterned dress and a denim vest, unable to gauge what kind of day it’s going to be when she steps out of the closet and into the chaos. Business has been booming down at The Leafling, which is wonderful, but more than a little overwhelming. And Jamie, god love her, has taken to watching Dani when she thinks Dani won’t notice, always with this worried little crease between her eyes. 

It’s making her crazy, if she’s honest about it. Jamie isn’t the worrier in the relationship, and watching her slip into the role is making Dani feel worse about the whole situation. She needs Jamie to tell her it’s all fine, it’s all perfectly all right, they’re going to make it through this new weirdness together no problem. 

“My dear, we became a we the night you said the magic words,” Viola says, a bit pettily. “Or have you forgotten me already?”

“How,” Dani grits out, “on earth am I supposed to forget you? Feel like I spend every day just...waiting for you to spring up and ask some idiotic question about cars or airplanes or deodorant--”

“For a schoolteacher, you surely lack for patience, Miss Clayton.”

Dani closes her eyes, searching for strength. Her hands grope, landing on dress and vest and yanking them free. “You know what? Both. We’re doing both today.”

“We most certainly are not! Not even a glove to be found? And again with the florals! We’ve been over how tacky the florals are, Miss Clayton. Miss Clayton, are you listening?”

“No,” Dani says decisively, wriggling into the layers and looking around for her chunkiest pair of earrings. 

“You are the scandal of the town, Miss Clayton,” Viola sniffs.

***

“Does she, ah...watch when we do this?”

Dani groans. They’d been having such a nice evening--an old movie fading slowly into wandering hands, Jamie’s mouth making its way down her neck, Jamie’s fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and tickling her ribs. She’d just flipped Jamie onto her back, was just looking to remove the deeply inconvenient articles of cloth between them, when Jamie pressed a palm lightly against her chest. 

“Not trying to be weird about it,” Jamie says, breathless. Her eyes are dark and heavy; though she’s stopped Dani moving closer, one of her legs has wound around Dani’s hip, easing her in. It’s giving Dani the worst kind of mixed message, to say the least. 

“Would you like us to put this sort of thing on hold until I find a way to exorcise the demon from my head, Jamie?”

“I did not say that. I decidedly said nothing of the kind.”

Dani lets her head fall forward, covering Jamie’s face in a fall of blonde. “Sorry. That was snippy. I just...I don’t know the answer. She’s...” She tilts her head, eyes shut, searching. “Quiet. For now.”

Jamie brushes her hair back, cups the side of her face, thumb moving in a slow arc across her cheekbone. “S’all right then. Can’t blame me being curious, can you? I mean, it’s not every day you find a third party sneaks into your bed.”

Dani leans into the soft stroke of her hand, sighing. “I don’t like it, either, you know. She’s so...judgey. I hadn’t realized ghosts could be judgey.”

“What’s she judging?” The hand on her chest slides, gripping a fistful of her shirt, pulling her toward Jamie. Dani sighs again, letting Jamie kiss her with the soft determination of someone apologizing for stopping this train in the first place. 

“Me,” she murmurs against Jamie’s lips. “You.”

“Me?” Jamie sounds affronted. “What’s there to judge about me, I’m a bloody peach.”

Dani laughs, bites her lower lip until Jamie groans. “It’s not anything personal. It’s just...the whole world is so different from what she remembers. There’s TV, jean shorts, women out there having jobs and lives without consent of their husbands...for her, it must be the Wild West.”

“Judges what she doesn’t understand, is that it?” Jamie is doing an admirable job of pretending to still be invested in this conversation, even as her hands are making short work of Dani’s sweatpants. Dani sucks in a breath. 

“I guess. Yeah. Can’t blame her for that, really.”

Jamie mulls this over, fingers tracing hipbone. Her nails bite gently into soft skin. “Does she judge us for this, I wonder?”

“Do you care?”

“Not,” Jamie says, twisting her hand and bringing their mouths together hard, “in the least.”

***

“Put it out the window.”

“I am not putting it out the window, Viola.”

“Down a flight of stairs, then! What in all cosmic reaches of hell is this for, if not throwing it somewhere it can never harm another soul again!”

Dani exhales through her nose, slowly, embracing every meditative memory of dealing with errant children. “I am not,” she says slowly to the empty apartment, “going to throw my television anywhere. And I'd really appreciate it if you’d stop making that suggestion every time I turn it on.”

“You are letting your soul rot from the inside out with this filth!” Viola is all but shrieking. Dani imagines her pacing back and forth, back and forth, her hands wild. “Your moral fiber, Miss Clayton. What of your moral fiber?”

“If MTV rots away one’s moral fiber,” Dani says, as calmly as she knows how, “then I suspect we’re all lost causes, anyway.”

Viola is silent for such a long time, Dani thinks she’s done the trick. She turns her attention back to the laundry she’s been folding to the tune of Janet Jackson. Her head bobs gently in time as the videos shuffle past--Madonna, Michael, Paula, George. Then, with the hour change, newer fare. She’s still getting around to some of these artists, still trying to work out how she feels about them. 

"Did you hear that?” Viola seethes. “What was that about an anaconda? Is this man suggesting we feed a woman to snakes? What barbarism do your people accept in this age?”

Dani folds a pair of Jamie’s socks with such deliberate care, she nearly forgets to breathe while doing it. 

“Moral fiber,” Viola hisses. “Moral fiber is wasted on this age of nudity and...and...hammertime.”

Dani finds herself desperately invested in ironing the wrinkles out of a pair of jeans with her hand until Viola goes quiet again.

***

“You could have such nice hair,” Viola croons. “Such nice hair, if you would only put them away...”

“They’re convenient,” Dani says, scraping her hair back into a pink scrunchie. Viola makes a noise of disgust. 

“They’re abhorrent. Honestly, your time and its...fashions. What do you call this?”

She’s gesturing toward the bathroom counter, to the little basket that holds all the hair supplies. Dani sighs. 

“It’s a headband, Viola. We like headbands. They keep the hair out of our eyes.”

“There are other ways. Fine hats. Lovely veils. Why don’t you own any lovely veils, Dani, do you want the common folk seeing your every decision in your eyes?”

Dani reaches for the hairspray. Behind her, Jamie bustles in with shirt half-buttoned, suspenders swinging around her thighs. Viola makes another catty little noise. 

“Any news?” Jamie asks, reaching around for a hairbrush and kissing Dani’s cheek. 

“She doesn’t like scrunchies,” Dani reports. “And she’s started calling me Dani.”

Jamie frowns. “Good sign or bad?”

“Impossible to guess.”

“Tell her you want some veils,” Viola says sweetly. “And for her to learn the value of a fine skirt.”

Dani, ignoring this, reaches around the back of Jamie’s neck and pulls her into a searing kiss. Jamie drops the hairbrush with a clatter, leaning Dani back against the counter and gripping the small of her back like she’s suddenly forgotten they’re both late for work. 

When they break apart, they’re both flushed, Dani giggling into the underside of Jamie’s jaw, Jamie’s eyes glazed. In the back of her mind, she hears Viola sigh. 

“That is truly childish, you know.”

***

It’s kind of an accidental habit, punishing her inner ghost for bad behavior by channeling her frustrations into sex. She couldn’t explain it if she tried, except to say Viola does tend to shut up when Dani’s properly distracted. Maybe it’s just the way the connection works, thinner when Dani isn’t willing to give it energy. Maybe Viola’s embarrassed. Either way, a year after Viola first speaks, her life with Jamie burns hotter than it ever has. 

It’s best when Viola is trying to run her mouth over Jamie’s fashion sense, she’s noticed. It is, in fact, the only way to shut Viola up about the aforementioned fashion sense. Which Dani intellectually understands; coming up from a world 400 years away, where women dressed in endless layers and a person’s value was often found in the shine of her jewels and the rich fabric of her skirts, slamming face-first into the 1990s must have been a trip. Truly, Viola is lucky Dani didn’t cart her out of that lake earlier. If she thinks scrunchies are bad, she should have seen the heyday of shoulder pads. 

Honestly, though, the worst thing is listening to Viola trill on about how much better Jamie could look if she’d only bow to the whims of femininity. Jamie, whose primary word on fashion has always been “can I dig a hole in this?” is perfect just the way she is. In fact, as the years go on and her jeans grow cuffs, her shorts grow shorter, her tops crop midway up her stomach, Dani thinks the world is finally suiting Jamie instead of the other way around. 

“She’s prancing around for the world to see--”

“It’s ninety-six degrees out,” Dani says in a low voice. She understands these conversations with Viola can be internalized, but she tends to wind up wearing this distant expression every time, and Jamie can spot it a mile off. Best to just mutter aloud in the sanctity of their own home. 

“She’s walking her wares up and down the block,” Viola rages on. “Not a shawl to be seen!”

“Jamie,” Dani calls from the kitchen, “have you ever in your life worn a shawl?”

“That’s, uh, one of those blankets with the fringy bits, yeah?” Jamie calls back. She’s bent over the air conditioning unit, trying to coax life into the old girl. The cropped line of her black t-shirt rides up her back, revealing glistening skin. Dani tips her head to enjoy the view. “I’ll pass on account of any blanket in this heat being like to kill me.”

“Best not to test it,” Dani agrees. Viola heaves the longest-suffering sigh Dani’s ever heard. 

“It doesn’t bother you in the least, your woman out there, where anyone could see her...her bare stomach!”

“One,” Dani says coolly, “she’s my girlfriend, not my woman. Two, I’ve never once tried to dictate her clothing, and I’m not stopping because a dead woman insists. Three, I happen to like it.”

“Like what?” Jamie strolls back to her, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead with a sigh. She stops a few inches away, rocking back and forth on her heels like she wants nothing more than to close the distance despite the mind-numbing heat. 

“Viola is commenting upon your more risqué clothing choices.”

“What? This?” Jamie grasps the exceedingly high-cut hem of her shirt and tugs it gently upward, teasing. “What’s her problem with all this?”

“It’s on display, evidently.”

“As it should be,” Jamie says almost primly. “I’m a fine specimen to behold. Learn to enjoy it, love, it’ll be faster than trying to change the view.”

This last, she says in a slightly louder voice, as though speaking to the shadow behind Dani’s eyes. She’s grinning, and Dani has time to think how strange it is, how quickly they’ve learned to accommodate Viola’s appearances into their conversations--Jamie has taken to leaving beats between her sentences, allowing for Dani to process two people speaking at once--before Jamie is wrapping both arms around her and lifting her off the floor. She squeals in surprise, delight turning to desire as Jamie licks a bead of sweat from her neck. 

“Not again,” Viola sighs. “You’ll wake the whole village.”

“Apartment,” Dani corrects, catching Jamie by the jaw and kissing her hungrily. It’s too hot for this, probably, but she can’t quite remember how to care when Jamie pulls free of her grasp and slides to her knees, taking Dani’s skirt with her. 

“It’s a nightmare, regardless.”

***

Eventually, Viola proves herself capable of learning a thing or two. Namely, that she is welcome to run commentary on anyone in the world except for Jamie. 

Even old ghosts can learn new tricks, apparently, although it takes a number of months, a great deal of sex, and one memorable weekend in which--upon Viola raging over every article in Jamie’s side of the closet for half an hour--Dani simply removed the option of clothing from Viola’s sight altogether. 

“This,” Jamie panted, both of them on the floor with a sheet draped over their tangled limbs, “is working for me in the weirdest way, Poppins.”

“I think she’s really starting to hate me,” Dani said conversationally, even as her fingers slipped between Jamie’s legs yet again. Jamie’s hips rose to meet her, one hand burying itself in her hair. 

“Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?”

***

Not commenting on Jamie, naturally, does nothing to stop Viola talking about every other goddamn thing in the world. 

“We’re going to have to have a long talk about not shaming women for their bodies, you know,” Dani tells her one afternoon. Viola has been tearing a young woman to pieces over her short skirt, furious that someone so pristine could soil herself with such impunity. Dani must be getting used to this in the weirdest way possible, because this kind of floral language is starting to feel second-nature. 

“I would never shame anyone,” Viola protests. “I am simply stating fact. Men do not value women as it is, and while we may win their games, we get nowhere at all if we do not play them.”

“This isn’t a game, Viola, it’s her life. Her body. She can do whatever she likes with it.”

“But I want her to succeed,” Viola insists. There’s an almost disconcerting eagerness to the words. She really truly believes what she’s saying. “A woman viewed as nothing more than a strumpet will have an even more difficult time securing a dowry, and then where will she be?”

“In college?” Dani suggests blithely. “Traveling? Living isn’t just for men, Viola, I know you know this. You refused the oath of obedience on your wedding day.”

“Of course it’s not for men’s sake alone, but when the law--”

“The law is different here,” Dani says, almost gently. “Has been for a long time. Or haven’t you noticed how well Jamie and I get along without a man to be found?”

Viola’s silence stretches so long, Dani’s sure she’s either gone back to sleep or is finally choosing this moment to let the ugly banner of homophobia unfurl. She’s been waiting for this moment for years, it seems, waiting for the ghost in her head to mimic her mother on the one and only occasion she attempted to send home a letter. 

“You’re different,” Viola says at last, very softly. Dani blinks. 

“Pardon?”

“You’re different,” Viola repeats. “Jamie is your forever. Does that young girl have her forever, Miss Clayton?”

“Well--I don't know, I don’t suppose it’s my business--”

“Perhaps she will find it in one like our Jamie,” Viola says impatiently. “But perhaps she will find instead the stones of men who have not, over four centuries, really changed all that much. Is it so wrong of me, to have a mother’s care for that?”

Dani doesn’t know how to answer. Doesn’t have the first idea, when faced with a Viola who is not simply catty for cattiness’ sake, but genuine. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, unable to find argument. 

“We just. We just don’t pick on girls for what they do with their bodies, all right? It’s...it’s cruel, and it isn’t necessary.”

Viola sighs. “Fine. But we still ought to discuss the pattern choices. Those polka dots are not flattering in the least.”

It’s only later, watching Jamie chop carrots for dinner, that Dani realizes Viola had said our. Our Jamie. 

“Oh sweet Christ,” she mumbles.

***

The change is slow. Subtle. If not for the fact of carrying this woman in her head, Dani’s not sure she even would have noticed. 

“She what?” Jamie looks up from the plant she’s tending, fingernails grimed with soil, wedding ring carefully strung upon a thick chain around her neck until she can clean up again. “She...sorry, what?”

“I can’t be sure,” Dani muses. “It sounds...crazy. But I think she’s starting to like you.”

“Well, sure,” Jamie laughs. “I’m a deeply likable human being. But this is the Lady, yeah? Same one who dragged Peter fucking Quint to his death? Same one who thinks I show too much skin?”

“I’m...not convinced she thinks that anymore.” It’s really hard to say for sure. On the one hand, it’s possible Viola has shut up about Jamie’s shorn sleeves and shorts because every time she mentioned either, Dani made it her personal life’s mission to make sure Jamie never wore anything else around the house. On the other...

“I think she looked at your butt the other day.”

Jamie raises her eyes slowly, brow furrowing. “Can she do that? Turn your eyes to something you weren’t already looking at?”

“No,” Dani says, a bit stiffly, all too aware of stepping into the trap. Jamie grins. 

“Thought not.”

“But it was different,” Dani presses on through flushing cheeks. “I mean--even if I was already looking, she was--I mean--she--”

She doesn’t know how to explain it. How the rumble in her chest, already so familiar at the sight of Jamie puttering around their home, had seemed to expand until it encompassed all of her. How it was like someone had turned the heat in the room to its breaking point. 

“I can just tell, okay?” she says, aggrieved. “She looked at your butt, and she liked it.”

Jamie makes a thoughtful face, brushing dirt off her hands with slow, deliberate motions. “So...what you’re saying is...your personal ghostie has a crush on your wife?”

Dani presses her face against the counter, letting the cool metal relieve her blush. “Shit. Yeah. I think she might.”

“This is,” Jamie says triumphantly, pressing up against Dani from behind and kissing the back of her neck, “the funniest thing that has ever happened, by a country goddamn mile.”

***

A series of events, cascading in short order, that Dani almost actually feels bad about. If one could feel guilty about putting strain on one’s personal-pan Casper. 

The Britney Spears video, for one. Viola still does not like music videos--or music, frankly, unless it involves a ridiculous number of flutes and orchestral swells--but she’s grown to tolerate them. Mostly. 

That is, until Britney sways onscreen in a plaid skirt and schoolgirl pigtails. 

“Fuck,” Dani gasps, hand coming down hard against her own breastbone. It’s like someone grabbed the dial on her blood pressure and cranked it all the way up. That someone, she suspects, being the dead woman who has been more and more present of late. 

“I--I cannot--I simply am not capable of understanding--” Viola sounds like she’s short-circuiting. “I know we are not meant to comment, but what on earth is she doing?!”

“Dancing,” Dani says sharply, trying to coax her breathing back down. Is this what a stroke feels like? Is her fucking ghost roommate giving her an actual stroke? “Viola, you’ve seen dancing.”

“She is so young! She is a child! Who is protecting this person from the world?” Viola is furious. Viola is exploding. Dani sort of wonders if her chest is going to explode, too. 

“She’s...a pop star. This is what they get paid lots and lots of money to do.” It’s a bad answer, she knows. These videos make her a little uncomfortable too, when she thinks on them too long. But Viola? Viola’s rage is a towering beast of a thing. For a minute, lungs scraping at the air, Dani is genuinely afraid this is the point where the switch flips. Where she finds herself staring at the room from the back of her own head. 

“Someone,” Viola says in a low, terrible voice, “must protect these children.”

It takes almost an hour to calm her down. Dani doesn’t turn MTV back on for a while after that. 

***

“The. The moon?” The opposite end of the emotional spectrum this time. If Viola had been nearly apoplectic over Britney’s choreography, she now sounds faint.

“You should have floated that a bit more softly,” Dani tells Jamie, who looks confused. 

“Float what, all I did was mention NASA--”

“The moon,” Viola repeats. “We have seen. The moon.”

“She’s having trouble with the moon landing,” Dani says. Jamie waves her hands helplessly.

“Poppins, I have trouble understanding the geography of Texas, we all have problems.”

“We have,” Viola breathes, “stepped foot. Upon. The moon.”

Dani pours herself another large glass of wine.

***

“How’s this, then?” Jamie gives a very small, somewhat self-conscious twirl. “Too much? Too little? Too, ah, revealing, as the ghost contingent might say?”

Dani, leaning against the bedroom wall, can’t quite find the words. Viola, too, is conspicuously silent. 

“It’s bad,” Jamie says, nodding fervently. “Yeah, y’know, I think I knew it when I picked it up. Better on the sales rack, as they say. I can just...if you wouldn’t mind popping the zip real quick...”

“Yes, Dani,” Viola says quietly. “Pop the zip.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Dani hisses. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“It’s not bad,” Dani says quickly, ignoring the little harrumph Viola utters. “It’s very not bad. Opposite of bad, really.”

Relief floods Jamie’s face. The dress is low cut in a way very little of her clean-up clothes are, with a slit running clear up the leg. Patterned in burgundy petals, the black velvet is stark against her pale skin. 

“I won’t get run out of the convention, then? Only they said there’s a bit about drinks and networking, and it was just shy of black-tie. I could do that instead. Get a black tie. Think I’d look nice in a black tie.”

“The dress,” Viola says in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Tell her it is a nice dress.”

“It’s a nice dress,” Dani repeats with comic dazedness. “Best dress I’ve ever seen, maybe.”

“And now,” Viola says soothingly, “you go to her. Walk confidently now, shoulders back, chin up--”

“Are you...wing-man-ing me toward my own wife?” 

“Seduction requires confidence, Dani.”

“What’s she saying?” Jamie’s face has gone a curious mix of apprehensive and amused. Dani swallows. 

“Seduction requires confidence, evidently.” 

A slow grin spreads across Jamie’s face. Dani raises a hand, finger extended. 

“Don’t. Don’t make that smug face.”

“What’s smug about it?” She’s moving across the room, arms already reaching. “This is my very natural expression, I’ll have you know. The most normal expression in the world for a woman whose wife is being told to undress her by the ancient rage-ghost sharing her body.”

“Our lives,” Dani says helplessly, already pressing herself flush against Jamie, “are different than other people’s lives.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees in a low voice, sliding the sweater over Dani’s head. “Can’t find it in me to complain, though, can you?”

***

It’s weird, almost. Weirder, that it’s almost not. That the beast in the jungle, the creature Dani spent nearly a decade dreading, has pounced at last and...mostly, she just seems to want to see Dani happy. 

Jamie finds it hilarious, in that pretend-callous way Jamie has of smoothing over genuine concern with soft laughter. She doesn’t like Dani sharing her mental space with someone at all hours, Viola popping up like a wack-a-mole game on high. But, if Dani must share the space with anyone, at least--

“It’s someone who thinks I'm gorgeous.”

“You are gorgeous,” Dani replies, a bit exasperated. “Gorgeous, silly, perfect person. But my inner ghost has a crush on you, that isn’t strange for you?”

“Poppins, my life has been strange since a doe-eyed American strolled into it and told me she still saw her dead fiancé when we kissed.” Jamie reclines on the bed in a sleep shirt and underwear, hands playing lightly with the pillowcase beneath her head. “Strange is my bread and butter these days, and if I had to sacrifice you to have it any other way, we both know how it would go.”

Dani makes a mulish sound under her breath. Jamie cups a hand to her ear. 

“Say again?”

“It’s weird,” she repeats, arms crossed over her chest. “She’s weird. I always thought she’d do something bad--walk me off a roof, or strangle someone to death, or try to rob a convenience store. But mostly she just wants to protect young girls from an uncaring world and look at your butt in the shower.”

“That is...very specific,” Jamie says lightly. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s so bizarre. The longer this goes on, the more she sees of the world, it’s like...like she’s getting more real. More Viola, less Lady.”

Jamie sits up, hand sliding to rest high on Dani’s thigh as if to shield her from harm. “But not more solid, right? Not taking up space you already rent?”

Dani shakes her head. “That’s the thing. She doesn't feel like she’s taking over. And it feels...like she should.”

“You want her to?” 

“No, no, of course not.” Dani raises Jamie’s knuckles to her lips, raining soft kisses up and down her hand until the tension goes out of her brow. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. This isn’t...what I expected.”

Jamie exhales, shifting her weight until she’s sitting in Dani’s lap. She takes a Dani’s face between her hands, kisses her long and slow until Dani eases back against the headboard. 

“This is good, Poppins. You’re a good influence. You were on those kids, and on me, and now on this Lady of yours. Maybe that’s all a ghost needs, deep down.”

Dani leans into her, lets the rhythm of kiss and gentle bite and hands slipping beneath her clothes carry her away for a while. Still, no Viola, and she’s grateful. She doesn’t like to think how that would feel, Viola popping up while Jamie’s curling her fingers deep, groaning soft against her shoulder. There is a time and a place for hauntings, and time with Jamie is something else entirely. 

She’s pretty sure Viola even respects that. Which is, like everything else, incredibly strange. 

***

Viola attends their second wedding. Their real wedding. It’s bizarre on a level Dani isn’t prepared to deal with, feeling her surface as the plans become reality. Jamie’s got flowers, naturally, and Owen’s catering, and Henry has the kids--who are kids no longer, but fully-formed people with lives of their own--running errands on the day. And Dani...

Dani is looking at herself in a wedding dress for the second time in her life, only this time, she can breathe. 

“You are radiant,” Viola says. Dani closes her eyes for a moment, steels herself. 

“Nothing else to say? No notes?”

“You chose wisely,” Viola says. Dani sighs. 

“I figured lace was classic, and someone told me I had nice shoulders once, so--”

“The dress is beautiful,” Viola says. “But I was not talking about your grooming for the day.”

Dani gives a shaky laugh. “I love her, you know. I really do.”

“I can tell.” A beat of silence. Then: “I did not understand at first. Her. Or you. I suppose I will never understand completely. But...I understand the depths of what you feel. It is a part of me, too, I think. That devotion, sinking into all the spaces where I had forgotten.”

“You’re in love with Jamie, too?” Dani asks, not really wanting the answer. Viola laughs. 

“Yes. And no. You and I are intertwined, Miss Clayton. What you feel, I feel, to a degree. More importantly, I have seen your life with her. The life you build with the reckless joy of two people doomed one day to die.”

“Thanks,” Dani says, a bit sharply. She senses Viola putting her hands up, a terribly-modern gesture of surrender. 

“You understand what I mean. It takes courage, to love this completely. To do so while carrying a burden neither of us can truly comprehend is...something else altogether. There is a strength there I could not have understood on my most willful of days.”

“You turned Death away at your own doorstep,” Dani points out, smiling. Viola is pleased. 

“I did, didn’t I? And I could never regret it, even now. But you. You are doing something so much more incredible. Loving, even knowing what ending love must craft.”

“This is a bit dark for my wedding day,” Dani points out. Viola nods. 

“You are radiant. And you are fortunate. And I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

It is the strangest wedding toast she’s ever heard, and something within Dani’s heart has never been more at peace.

***

“How’s our Lady doing tonight?” Jamie asks as Dani slips into bed beside her. She tips her head, thinking on it. Viola, as she usually is once Dani crosses the bedroom threshold, is nowhere to be found. 

“Good, I think. Calm.”

“And my wife?” Jamie looks at her, eyes serious. “You’ve been quieter lately. Fighting her less?”

“She’s been fighting me less,” Dani says. “She...likes it here, I think. Likes us. You know, I thought after this much time, she’d get bored or restless or...go back to her old ways, but...”

“But I’m just too gorgeous,” Jamie teases. Dani slings a leg across her body, holds tight to her with hands that never feel as though they can hold on hard enough. 

“I think sometimes...sometimes it’s just about remembering. What it’s like to be a person. What it’s like to be in love.”

“Mm,” Jamie agrees, fingertips drawing dizzying spirals on the bare back of Dani’s shoulder. “Well done, you. You’ve tamed your beast.”

Dani sighs, content. “I think it was a joint effort.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees, kissing the top of her head. “Because I am, famously, too gorgeous to deny.”

[toomanyassassins]

The Terror Fashion Show: Harry Goodsir

In celebration of hitting over 50 followers (yay! :D), I thought I'd do a little look into some of the wardrobes of my faves from AMC's The Terror. I am by no means an expert, so if you have any corrections or fun facts, feel free to add to this!

Anyway, let's jump right in and look at Harry D. S. Goodsir's outfits:

We're starting here?? Ouch! Okay then.

Lol but okay so this is actually a pretty good scene for seeing the bare bones of what the average mid-1800s Victorian man would have been wearing. We see Harry putting on the various layers of a formal outfit, one by one, starting with the ubiquitous white shirt that usually pops up on Pinterest as a "poet" or "pirate" shirt (due to also being common throughout the 18th century). This was kinda like the underwear of Victorian men (goodness me, Mr. Goodsir!), in that they didn't wear underwear like we have today, and the shirts doubled as a nightgown. They only had a few buttons near the top, and the shirt would be pulled over the head.

Pretty much all of these type of shirts I've seen were made of linen (or linen-cotton blends), chosen for its high breath-ability, moisture-wicking, and lightweight design. In other words, you could sweat all day in these things and still keep relatively cool and not swamp-ass-y.

Shirts were geometric jigsaw puzzles, an elaborate series of rectangles cut without curved seams and designed not to waste even a scrap of a length of fabric. The sleeves were luxuriously full, 20" wide or more, pleated into dropped shoulders and wrist cuffs. - twonerdyhistorygirls

Also as a fun note, almost all of the shirts I've seen from this period have the wearer's little initials sewn into them with red thread. I guess that was just a common practice at the time, so you knew which generic white linen workshirt was yours.

For this next bit we're gonna have to go under the Read More due to the whole "pants" situation. Shield thine eyes children!

These are breeches. Or as we call them where I come from: "britches".

Around 1770, Breeches became longer and tighter fitting, they had reached below the knees and by 1840 the breeches were lengthened down to the ankles. The breeches were also designed more narrow and closer fitting to the legs, eventually the long breeches came to be known as trousers. - araciligarcia

This also counts as Victorian underwear, I think. Longjohns or "Union Suits" weren't really a thing yet, so these would have only covered the bottom half, instead of being a whole-body one-piece.

I think we're all fairly familiar with how pants work.

Next goes the suspenders. Note the triangle shape created as the two braces join in the middle of the back! I believe belts didn't really gain popularity until the world wars, when men had to wear them as part of their uniform (or I could be completely wrong on that).

And then next comes... okay, okay, I'll stop using pics from this scene. But here we have a pretty good example of the average everyday wear for a Victorian man. It's versatile, as we shall soon see more of, and it speaks to how Goodsir is a proper little surgeon who is just trying to Do His Best. His clothes are functional, and not particularly showy. Very standard for the time.

But on occasion our Mr. Goodsir must do some operating, which was super messy in the 1840s.

If you'll notice, this surgeon's outfit is meant to be something that can be put on over what Goodsir is already wearing, and will keep his everyday clothes clean. At first glance you may not even notice that his sleeves are detachable - he literally has just slid them on over top to keep his regular sleeves clean (side note: does anybody know if this was actually a thing?? I can't find any records of it, from my admittedly brief search. But they look nifty). And his apron (smock?) is also just looped over an existing button on his waistcoat.

These are also unrealistically clean. Like... so clean. We know that by the time the show starts, Goodsir has already had to do an autopsy on John Hartnell, which means by that point his apron should have at least some blood on it. Victorian surgeons didn't wash their aprons between surgeries: the bloodier and more disgusting-looking an apron was, the better the skill of the surgeon, so it was thought.

And honestly even this is more hygienic than most surgeons of that era. The majority of them, especially those in operating theaters, would simply wear a frock coat that would be absolutely stinking stiff with pus and blood. And I don't care how lovely Goodsir is, he would not have known about germs at the time (just like every other surgeon in that era), and thus would have done exactly as he was taught in medical school. In the operating theaters. Yuck.

Anyway, moving on:

Aww, look at him! So cute! According to production notes, the design for the land-traversing outfits was based on later rescue mission crews' wardrobes, and from Antarctic expeditions. Observe:

I guess we just don't really know what the men of the Franklin expedition wore while crossing the land. But let's take this moment anyway to appreciate that Goodsir wears a lil' strap across the chest to keep his backpack safe and tight!

If Goodsir's mutton chops look a little thicker here, it's cuz he's wearing a Welsh wig. A popular woolen cap that originated from... you'll never guess where... Wales. The batch for the show were made by Sarah McAlister, based on a pattern created by Sally Pointer, which you can get for yourself.

Here's a better look at one from 1854:

It looks so comfy! If a bit stupid.

I could go into talking about Goodsir's naval uniform, or any of the Royal Navy uniforms seen on the show, except that I don't care and find it all to be very stuffy.

However, I did discover this delightful little tidbit from a letter from Goodsir to his father about just how expensive those stupid navy uniforms were:

"I have been up looking after my outfit & find it will be rather expensive. The Queen visits us on Tuesday next & if we all require to attend it will be a cause of great expense as we must appear in full dress uniform, & a cocked hat [note: bicorn/tricorn] alone costs £4." - Harry Goodsir

Lol £4 wow so expensive! *checks conversion rate and inflation* okay so apparently that's about $180 or £130. Yikes!

Aaand I think that about covers it. Again, if you have any historical tidbits and other notes about his clothing feel free to add! I'd love to know more about this time period and the clothes we find our favorite characters in. As a parting gift, let's all enjoy how utterly un-blood-soaked Goodsir's apron is here despite just carving up Gibson's body:

Just another day at work.

[bonktime]

Weather The Storm

Chapter 2: Hand Over Fist

Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader (no y/n) 1861 Lighthouse au 

Rated: E (just the whole story)

Previous // Masterlist // Next

Art by the incredible @honestly-shite​ I’m so blown away 🥰💘

Summary: Ezra settles into life in the north but he can’t seem to wrap his head around the keeper. As they dance around each other a clash with another local brings some truths into the light.

Warnings: Language, violence, a boat load of sexual tension, a bunch of victorian sexism, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort? (smut will come)

Note: Written in the 3rd person so i guess you could read as oc? but I never name or describe her, except being short. I had loads of fun writing this! Loads of descriptions of the weather because that’s who I am and also touching. Next chapter will probably be a little late but please forgive me!

Wordcount: 3630

~~~~~~~~~

The wind was like nothing else. Four days at sea and Ezra was fairly sure it was making him deaf. It roared and screamed through the wood of the boat like he's never heard. Rattling anything loose and merging with the groans of the beams and the waves into a great cacophony of noise.

There was a knack to sailing in winds so strong, one he was very glad he'd got the hang of previously else he would probably have been tossed overboard that first morning. Even so the violent movement of the ship beneath him had been a surprise. Any time he put anything down he had to keep a close eye or it would end up on the other side of the room. It made sleep exceedingly difficult when being tossed out of the hammock was a possibility, so he was lucky to get a couple of hours between shifts.

The work was hard and one particularly malicious seagull had made off with a biscuit he had been about to take a bite out of, combined with the lack of sleep and the rolling waves, it had made him irritable at best down right foul at worst. Still, the rest of the crew were likable and only jibed in a good humoured way at the newcomer. And, whenever the bite of the cold got too much, he had a new memory to warm him up. Even so as they came into port on that forth morning, he was picturing that warm bed and the flickering firelight. 

On the walk back along the sea something caught his eye. He stopped to pick it up.

 ⧫⧫⧫

Ezra arrived just as the keeper was leaving the lighthouse. She saw him crossing the causeway, as the sun peeked over the horizon, turning the sky every colour from deep blue to the brightest pink. He waved at her as she waited for him to approach, unable to help but admire her. Dressed in blue, she contrasted against the sky and its reflection in the water. She positively shone. As he got close, he smiled.

"It would appear I was wilfully incorrect about something"

"About what?" She cocked her head at him

"There is colour here. But to witness it you must have patience. "

He took a step closer. holding out his hand "I discovered this on my meander back to your charming abode, I believe you would appreciate it." In her hand he gently placed a chunk of sea glass, worn soft by the sands but still bright deep blue. He stayed close as she held it up to let the sun shine through. She could smell the sea on him, salty and something else. Looking up at him she wondered why he had been so thoughtful. "It's beautiful, thank you" he smiled at her, eyes creasing warmly.

 ⧫⧫⧫

A week passed and they talked in the mornings but their days never seemed to line up so they could only see each other for meals. Ezra spent his evenings in the living room, reading by the fire whenever he was home, and his mornings wandering the coast to distract himself from the woman in the water. 

Once on his walk he met the other keeper. The man had looked exhausted as if he was carrying a weight on his shoulders. He didn't say much, just to give his thanks to the other keeper and then he'd hurried away.

Further down the shoreline he liked to watch the market get set up. Watch the women waiting for the fishing boats to get in, preparing to gut and fillet and sell. He chatted to them sometimes, offering a hand carrying out the tables if they needed it. One girl always gave him a cup of tea after, laughing at his jokes and smiling. She was pretty and definitely would have caught his eye before. But now? He was friendly enough, and polite, but just couldn't work out why he was so uninterested. It wasn't like him. She made a nice friend though, and it was pleasant to get to know someone apart from the keeper even if he wasn't staying too long. And even if he didn't know the keeper all that well.

Ezra mentioned a woman he met at the fishery to the keeper. As much as she knew and liked her, it stung in a way the keeper couldn't quite identify. She was kind and soft and pretty and just the opposite of her. All of her hard edges and bitterness and isolation. But she didn't have any good cause or right to feel envious. Still, she thanked him for the warning, should she come across them together at least she wouldn’t be surprised.

 ⧫⧫⧫

There was another week of only seeing each other in the wee hours before both Ezra and the keeper had a shared day off.

He offered to come with her into town and help carry things. Mostly he just wanted her to show him around which she knew but she agreed anyway.

The sun showed itself as they walked together warming their skin. He watched the keeper raise her head to bask in it, smiling as she tried to explain what she needed from town with him interrupting after every item to ask questions.

She was glowing and it was starting to affect Ezra. Her skirt was pinned up a little above her ankles so it didn't dip in the sand and she'd forgone her usual headscarf and shawl to enjoy the sun. She had laughed at him as they'd left, at all his layers, called him a southern pansy. He'd grinned "Not everyone is so accustomed to this frigid weather. The cold bites those who it has not made an acquaintance with. Not unlike a wary dog."

"If you stayed a few winters here and swam in the North Sea you'd end up as hardy as any of us I reckon" he'd just smirked.

 ⧫⧫⧫

The keeper decided Ezra spoke just the way he did just to confuse people. Every time she’d asked him what a word meant he had grinned, but he did explain without condescension. He had spent nearly an hour chatting away to the grocer when she’d gone to the butcher and the baker. Upon asking, it turned out he had been trying to find a fruit he was fond of, but all the frills in his speech had led to a debate between the owners about what he had meant which he had then stayed quiet during just for enjoyment. When she had gone back to find him he was grinning ear to ear as the two men bickered. She had suppressed a laugh and sorted it out quickly before they had gotten even more irked by the outsider. Ezra had seen the laugh in her eyes though.

The final stop was the bookshop. A small place, stacked floor to ceiling and owned by the keeper’s oldest friend. She was sitting outside in the sun and jumped up wrapping the keeper in a warm hug. 

"Lass you work too fucking hard. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in Christ knows how long!" 

She grinned; the first time Ezra had seen it. He should make her grin more.

"Aye I'm starting to agree, how're the bairns at this rate they'll have grown a foot before I can see them again. Oh, shit sorry.” She gestured to him “This is my lodger Ezra, Ezra this is Amelia."

He wonders vaguely if everyone the keeper knows can give looks that pierce the soul. He gives the shopkeeper a nod and her face breaks into a smile. As they headed into the shop, clouds began to gather overhead.

"Come on pet, I've got something new I just know you'll love."

The shop seemed ready to burst at the seams. Ezra paroused but couldn’t stop himself listening into their conversation.

“How have you been, really? I worry about you all alone up there.” Amelia asked her eyes full of concern. Ezra subtly rounded a bookshelf so he wouldn’t seem nosey.

“I… Well I’ve been worse like. Every day is easier and I’m not alone at the moment as you’ve seen.”

“You seem to collect sailors, you.”

The keeper laughed “I just like the company! And I like being alone the rest of the time as you well know.”

“Oh aye the company. Nothing to do with,” Amelia lowered her voice “I divn’t nah… the roguishly good looks? You always loved a bit of trouble, dafty that you are”

“Hey! He just rents the room, we’re… friends I guess.” Ezra wished he could see her to gage how she really felt.

“Sure you pet.”

 ⧫⧫⧫

20 minutes later they left, a copy of Great Expectations wrapped carefully in tissue paper and stowed at the bottom of her bag, surrounded so it would stay dry should it rain. As they stepped out a woman seized the keeper's arm, she was accompanied by the vicar and glaring viciously. The keeper swallowed and introduced Ezra, he saw how uncomfortable she was, how her mood had changed since just minutes before.

"The ever elusive keeper shows herself yet again" the vicar speaks, face impassive, "I thought you might have died since you don't attend church, perhaps you'd met god's reckoning after… being so loose with your commitments." 

Ezra watches her jaw clench "I have told you before, when I work the night, I cannot attend in the morning."

The other women smirked "Work the night is one way of putting it." She eyed Ezra.

The vicar sighed "It is disappointing you disobey god's will. Your father should have married you off while he had the chance. Then your husband would keep you in line. If he could see you now, he'd be so ashamed"

Ezra froze but before he could react, he saw the rage pass over her face, fiery and passionate. She couldn't help it, she saw red, couldn't stop herself. She punched the vicar square on the nose.

The other woman shrieked. "What is wrong with you? You've hurt him!" Indeed, blood did start to drip out of his nose but he straightened himself up and grabbed the keepers arm pulling her close and raising his fist to strike.

"You're nothing but a worthless little whore. It's no wonder your sailor left as soon as you-" he was cut off by Ezra's fist, catching his jaw and sending him sprawling.

"I will not abide you speaking to the lady in this manner." He shook out his hand, and stepped over him, bending to seize his hair and pressing his blade to his neck "And to strike her?" He scowled down at the man who was opening and shutting his mouth like a fish. "What is that mantra you holy men spout? Turn the other cheek." The keeper's jaw dropped, she had known Ezra was rough around the edges but to strike a man of God, to threaten him, for her?

Against the incoming storm, it was as if he'd grown. Become huge and monstrous and brutal in a way she hadn't seen, a glimpse of what lay beneath all his beautiful words and pleasant disposition. It moved something in the keeper, something dangerous. Not many people would far defend her, let alone in such a way. 

Lightning flashed overhead forking down to meet the sea, in the light she could see the hard glint in his eye, the one he'd worn when they'd first met, even as he smiled. This was a man who had done far worse and all she could feel was grateful. It squeezed around her heart.

"I suspected as much. You must have forgotten yourself for a moment." Ezra stood and pulled the vicar to his feet, squeezing his arm harshly still baring that viscous grin as he pulled him close and murmured "I'd truly hate for you to suffer another grievous lapse in judgement, who knows what may become of you."

The keeper looked at the other woman "Judge not lest ye be judged? You had better pray for forgiveness.” She stepped forwards shoulders back as thunder rumbled around them “There's a storm coming and your husband works the water. I'd hate for the lord to compel me to make an error." The woman gasped at her a cold glare. Ezra looked at the keeper as she straightened out her dress. He could have laughed at her nonchalance, it gave him pause, how he saw her quiet power. She would make quite the foe. She gave Ezra a nod and he took her arm as they walked away.

He can feel how tense she was through her arm, despite her calm demeanour panic and anxiety were coming off her in waves. They walked back along the beach in silence as the heavens opened, pouring rain down around them. Ezra frowned to himself, perhaps with all the flitting around he had forgotten how to behave. Had lost some of himself, every old sin chipping away at his humanity was taking its toll. He'd come here for some fucking quiet, why did he always find trouble, or make it? Perhaps those years… he wasn't good. Punching a priest though? The keeper was a menace.

Half way he stopped turning her to look at him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were married?" she looked away from him at the waves. White horses were being blown, throwing spray up into the air.

"I never was. He left before we could."

The rain beating down made it hard to look up at him, it dripped into her eyes and ran down her face like tears. The rain and thunder were near deafening as he looked at her face, saw the pain and the other emotion, the one he can't identify.

"What happened?" He nearly has to shout to be heard over the storm and the waves. Reaching for her, taking her hand and feeling the calluses on her fingers.

"What always happens! I fell in love, and I thought he did too. But after, after we. He did what sailors always do." she threw off his hand and stepped back, the sea lapping at her ankles.

"What is it sailors always do? I do not appreciate you painting us all with such broad strokes." Now he's shouting, a bit out of frustration but mostly to be heard as the wind begins to howl, merging sea spray and rain until the only thing he could see was her.

"He sailed away!" She was suddenly very grateful for the rain; he couldn't see the tears that had rolled down her face. He frowned at her a deep furrow in his brow. "And so, he's right! I am a whore and probably everything else too." She looked wild, wind whipping her skirt to and fro. She glared at him, daring him to judge her. "I was relieved! I didn't want to marry him, he wanted to leave and I didn't. I enjoyed what we did!" She pressed her palm to her forehead. No idea how he would react. "He could’ve said goodbye" she whispered it, let the crash of the waves muffle the sound.

To her surprise he tugged her hand away from her face, looking into her eyes, jaw set, rain plastering his hair to his head.

"Let's go home."

Keeping her hand gently clasped in his he led her along the beach to the island.

 ⧫⧫⧫

Both of them were soaked to the bone by the time they had re-entered the cottage. Ezra could feel the keepers hand trembling in his.

"Go change out of that wet garb, I'll light the blaze in the living room and set the water to boil"

She nodded and entered her room as he did his own. He quickly pulled off his wet clothes and tugged on a fresh shirt surprised to hear her call out to him.

"Ezra, can you help me?"

He entered her room slowly, still only in his long shirt, taking it in. The bed was wide enough for two and had as many blankets as his own, there was a small wardrobe and a chest and a stack of books on a bedside table. On top of which he saw the glass he'd given her, not yet added to the chime in the window.

She was in her corset and chemise, back to him, dripping onto the rag-rug on the floor.

"I can't seem to," she was reaching behind herself. "With it wet and my damn swollen knuckles I can't loosen the tie. Please, can you help?"

He swallowed thickly as she looked back at him then away. Gently he reached for her, big hands and nimble fingers beginning to loosen the knot. "I'll take a look at that hand if you would allow me, check you haven't done any tangible damage." She nodded.

As he finished, he couldn't help brushing his fingers across the bare skin of her shoulder. It was soft and warm under his cold fingers. She stiffened slightly and turned to him, looking up at his face. His frown remained but that steely glint was gone, giving way to wide sad eyes. She looked at his hands, big, strong and bruised. She took one in her own, inspecting the cut across his knuckles.

"You needn't hurt yourself in defence of me, I shouldn't have hit him." She gently rubbed her thumb over the swelling to check her hadn't dislocated anything and tried to ignore how he tensed.

"I could not abide his hurting you, not with his words and certainly not with his fist" he turned her hand mirroring her gesture to feel her knuckles, they were swollen but nothing felt out of place. He kept a hold of her hand as he looked back up at her face.

She looked into his eyes, deep and dark enough to fall into. They stared back into hers without hesitation. She held his hand for just a moment longer before letting go. As she did, he turned and left, closing the door gently behind him.

He didn't give her the chance to thank him.

 ⧫⧫⧫

When she had dressed and headed down stairs, Ezra was pouring tea, he looked up. She was still dishevelled and shivering a little.

"Come on, let's get warmed up"

He led her through to the living room and sat her down on the rug in front of the fire handing her a cup of tea. Sitting down across from her he spoke, his legs brushed hers as he stretched out but he didn’t move away.

"What I cannot apprehend is why you don't want to depart this glacial place. You are not treated compassionately and there are locations all over with preferable climates."

She gave a small smile. "Because I like it here, it isn't perfect but I have my friends and my work and my home and where would I go? How well do you think the world would treat a woman like me?"

He shrugged, "People may surprise you. They have me on many occasions. I even astonish myself sometimes"

"Or they'll behave exactly as they always do. People are predictable like that." She sighed and sipped her tea. The warmth of the fire finally took an effect. "It seems we are at an imbalance. You know plenty about me, although not because I wanted you to. How about you tell me where you got that accent?"

He grinned. "I suppose I can reveal a little information. If only for the sake of equality."

So, he told her. Told her about his home, his mother, about when she passed. How he had to work to survive and found that he didn't get seasick. He picked up words and dialect wherever he went, combining them with his own until he wasn't sure what he used to sound like. She had laughed at him upon learning he wasn't a strong swimmer. 

"I can't believe you haven't been thrown overboard and drowned yet! You're unbelievably lucky!" He'd loved the sound.

He missed out a lot of the more unsavoury details of the work he’d done but the whitewashed version was honest enough. How going back to where he grew up still hurt, he had only visited once. Instead, he travelled, worked, and enjoyed himself.

"I don't know. You said I must be lonely here but you, you travel alone. You can't make good friends, you've no home to return to." She watched his face. "It seems you're far more alone than I am"

His brow furrowed "We can agree to disagree on that."

"And I still don't understand why you're here. Why aren't you somewhere warm?"

He shrugged and avoided the question, "If I wasn't, I would not have had the astounding pleasure of meeting you."

She frowned at how he ignored her question, but brushed it off.

The rain was finally beginning to ease as Ezra dozed off. Sitting on the floor slumped against the chair by the fire. He looked peaceful, no shadows playing behind his eyes, so she didn't wake him. Instead as the sun dipped, she laid a blanket over him and went to light the light.

The winds had made for a tense shift. Always keeping a weather eye on the sea for ships that might have got into trouble but eventually the sun rose and she stopped the clockwork and went back to the cottage.

Ezra had already left to get to The Mistress and she was surprised at the slight sting that they hadn't got to say goodbye. Next time she'll wake him.

She was even more surprised by how much she missed his company.

~~~~~~~~

Glossary

Hand over fist: Going forth rapidly in an endeavour, comes from ‘hand over hand’ when climbing the rigging.

Bairns: Kids, affectionate

Divn’t nah: Don’t know, couldn’t not include this

Dafty: fool, idiot, affectionate

~~~~~~~~

Taglist

Ezra

@fandom-blackhole

WTS

@something-tofightfor

Because I crave validation

@danniburgh

[getreadytosmash]

1. how long have you known you’re asexual? || 2. what ace-spec microlabels, if any, do you identify as? || 4. are you out as asexual irl? || 6. are you transgender or on the nonbinary spectrum? || 7. what’s your favorite asexual stereotype? || 9. cake or garlic bread? || 10. what made you realize that you were asexual? || 11. what’s your favorite part about being asexual? || 12. what’s your least favorite part about being asexual? || 18. what fictional characters do you headcanon as asexual?

@blind-mutant

ONE

Pretty early on luckily! I KNEW from age 10 that I just...find want sex, didn't want to have kids in anyway, but it wasn't until I was around 12-13 that I found a deviantart post about sexualities and different kinds of flags that it Clicked. This wasn't just me being any sort of late bloomer, this was a whole thing that other people felt too. The aromantism took a little longer to accept due to teenage angst but I'm glad I found the label I needed when I did.

TWO

I'd probably say...Grey ace?? Like, I DO get short crushes admittedly and I occasionally experience stuff, but I don't ever really wanna indulge in it or go on a date. I like simply being able to enjoy certain feelings rather then acting out on them and running a possible friendship. Also crushes are WHACK how the fuck do people deal with normal attraction so much, I felt like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time and we had been friends for years.

FOUR

Kinda...?? Admittedly its...hard to be out as ace? Not a lot of people know what it even is and when you try to tell them about it, it turns into disgust as you talk about not wanting to have sex or jokes about being a virgin forever. Usually I say I'm "not looking for anyone" and I'm more open about it online. If more people knew about aspec stuff and didn't make weird jokes about "waiting for the one" or staying innocent forever, I definitely would be more open about it.

SIX

Mm,,,not,,,really? At MOST I'd say a demigirl because I'm not THAT inclined about my gender or percievemnt. I'm fine with they/he being used with me and I usually present myself with "masculine" styles of dress every day. My body is a temple and boy is it run down and filled with rats.

SEVEN

Space. I've never really seen the associated things other sexualties have but I KNOW for a fact that aces have the best and coolest stuff. Space? Dragons? Cake? Garlic bread? Cards? Love that shit so much, I'd be ace just for the associations in another universe lmao.

NINE

Garlic breeeaaad! I WILL eat an entire loaf of it, don't test me. Snsnsn I mean I LIKE chocolate cake but finding an entirely JUST chocolate cake is hard to do, especially when I only like chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream. I'm a picky eater and it infuriates me and everyone who knows me.

TEN

Well, like I said in four, sitting in the sexual education program at school (which, was Not Good btw) and just seeing all that...Stuff, made me release that I just...wasn't into it??? Like, not at all. I just found the whole thing to feel...rather gross, and it was a thing I quickly realised not everyone else felt the same way about.

ELEVEN

Just...the community tbh. Its knowing that someone feels the same way as you do to a degree or knowing that the flash of purple in their flag means the same as it does for you and the fact that it's so varied is nice. No aspec person is the EXACT same - in spectrum or reasoning - and I find that so refreshing in how so many people can still have such a good community.

TWELVE

The jokes. I'm just,,,so sick of people being all Haha Always Gonna Stay Pure! Because??? What does that mean??? If I murder a dozen kids but refrain from having sex I'm still pure?? They're not as funny as you think they are. Also the general gatekeeping of "aces not being queer" as if being queer is something we can inherently dictate and manage, but u know.

EIGHTEEN

Skaar! Also Clint Barton, I HC Natasha and Tony as aro and aroace, I also see Toph from ATLA as ace aaand Steven from su! I probably have others but they're the top of my head rn

[finsterhund]

Hey I fucking broke my ankle lmao

“I could really use a break right now” I say as I struggle with my dog having terminal cancer, my roommate pushing my limits, my money being nonexistent, and barely getting one meal a day.

A finger on the monkey’s paw that is me ever wanting anything in life curls again. Must have been a pretty fucked up monkey because there’s a lot of fingers on this thing by now.

So yeah, life thought I wasn’t going through enough already so it added broken fucking ankle to the list of Finsterhund suffering hours.

“I wish I wasn’t broke” is another good one. “here have a different broke then lol. go fuck yourself you rotting corpse of a victorian boy piece of shit”

here’s the goods. Got ex roommate to take photo of the screen. Doctor did not let me email the high res version to myself.

I did not go “waaaiii” on the way down, unfortunately. Life just isn’t like a video game. Probably didn’t look funny either. In reality I am a silent faller/injurer/whatever. Survival instincts of child abuse survivor I land and stay there as quiet as possible. I “grew out of” signals for help before teenage years. Which is a blessing in disguise because I don’t like people looking at me when I am hurt. it’s the “baby deer waiting for mom to come back instinct” I hide from predators.

My brain didn’t really process it when it happened. I just fell and heard a SNAP. If I had watched a video of it happening to someone else I would have found it gross but fortunately my brain just let me ignore it.

I was mostly immediately scared that I had somehow damaged the FIFTY DOLLAR dog calming aid that I got for Cazza in the pet store. I needed something like it for her and just seeing it in person and not having to pay 30 dollar shipping I was like “yeah. getting it here” fortunately the only fragile part is a little plastic capsule that imitates a heartbeat, which was packaged inside the toy inside the box. I hope. I have not opened it.

But the reason I fell is because I was also carrying giant bag of dog food. You see my vet recommended I switch out her food in light of the potential heart disease link. So I got the biggest bag of the best chicken stuff they had. My roommate might try saying that it was because the bag was too heavy. It wasn’t. I could lift that shit just fine. Bag was impossible for my impaired depth perception cringe fail line of vision to see around. The same visual impairment that prevents me from being able to drive a car made me think that I could put my foot down on the curb of the sidewalk. Dumb ass thought I was stepping OVER the curb.

Fortunately the bag of dog food broke my fall. Otherwise I’d have probably smashed my nose and teeth on the pavement. I really hope the expensive puppy calming toy is unharmed :( I say as I have a fucking broken leg.

So yeah. If you’ve seen labyrinth where David Bowie playing Jareth the Goblin King walks over all those weird ass fucked up stairs and ledges that are all a manner of odd angles? Specifically where he just takes steps that are at an angle that you cannot actually walk? Yeah I fucked up Jareth platform stairs walked over the fucking curb and snapp my legs

yes, I said legs.

Only my left is technically broken. It’s a Webber A something or other. I have a sick as hell photo if you wanna see. It’s included in this post.

But my right foot also got fucking fucked up. That one it snapped a tendon or a ligament or whatever the fuck. Get this, it snapped off a small piece of the gottamn bone. It’s not a break but it’s like it came off like a splinter. I made a joke in the hospital about how it’s like when you throw a sticky hand at the wall and when you pull it back a piece of the paint comes off with it. That was really fucking funny but nobody laughed. My friend’s group chat thought it was funny though. I did not get a photo of that foot and the tiny cringe sticky hand paint sliver bone.

I am on pain meds better than my normal pain meds. I can barely feel the legs in bed now.

So back to the parking lot. I landed on the dog food bag. I am hoping the calmeroos puppy is not broken or damaged in any way, I heard the snap but my brain is not registering the snap. This hurts “like a normal fall” I think at first. It hurts a lot of course, but I have the pain tolerance of a truck (thanks for this one Will) and a “heartwarming” story from my youth is that my mom didn’t believe my arm was broken both times it happened because I wasn’t “in pain enough” so I’ve got the firsthand experience to back that up.

Yeah then I try to fucking move my goddamn legs. Left one, broken one, there’s noises. Like cracking pop sounds. And pain. God fuck. It feels like the foot is loose and it’s only connected by fleshy flesh and muscle and skin. Aka like how my dislocated shoulder (that my mom also dismissed because I didn’t scream enough... after the lifeguard had alreayd put it back in...) had felt when I was 12.

So I’m like “oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck I can’t get up or move” yeah my first response was “how the fuck am I going to escape?” I attempted to better myself to get up but absolutely not. Right foot feels like when I roll the damn thing which happens a lot. That *WAS* my bad ankle. sidkfjsdkfjskdf not anymore!!!!!

So an important note is that I’m technically better about my severe agoraphobia that my roommate can let me go into a store by myself provided he’s no more than a couple stores away. So while I’m waiting for a predator to pick my weak ass off outside the petstore he’s in the dollar store next door where I was supposed to meet him after putting the dog food in the car. The car I am now sitting next to. I have no way to get his attention because my phone is dead and also in my bedroom because it’s useless when not plugged into the wall.

Luckily the people parked next to us come out the store and see Mr fuck leg the fucked leg boy sitting on his bag of dog food between the cars and bless this family they help me out. By trying to get roommate out of the dollar store. Which doesn’t work. So they get the dollar store manager. Who then gets roommate out of the store. I was probably sitting there for 10 minutes or so. They had kids so I’m really trying not to let them see how fucked up the rapidly growing ankle balloon is.

But yeah. Eventually roommate come out the dollar store. And get this, he does the same shit my mom did every time anything ever fucking happened to me and is all “okay if it were really broken you’d be screaming right now” as I’m finally able to prop myself up enough to get into the car. That fucking triggered me real bad and I had a breakdown in the car while he went back into the dollar store to continue shopping.

Then we went to get food.

Then we went to costco.

He said that he would take me home and then if it was “still bad tomorrow” he’d take me to the ER.

So he tries to help me out of the car to the house.

I cannot put weight on the right leg either. It is agony. He’s trying to support the bad leg but the other leg need support too. A weaker man would have screamed but I just dropped to the parking lot ground and cried.

Made an attempt to crawl to the house but the gravel on my knees was just too much on top of everything else.

So FINALLY the ER is back on the menu. Ex roommate comes out because I need someone to support each foot. And they take me to their car and they drive me to the ER and I’m trying to eat a baconator while my foot is reminding me that we should have stayed as tiktaalik. you know, not fucking biped I want semi aquatic too please please please youre nothing

The wheelchairs in the ER are designed to offer full body support but the damn things are so hard to maneuver around and cannot be user operated. So I was sitting there having to get pushed around feeling like a dumb fuck because I hate needing assistance to move I hate it I hate it I hate it. I kept reaching down expecting to find the wheel handles but they weren’t there.

ER was... fun. There was a cool cartoon I’ve never seen before “Craig of the Creek” playing on the TV. I really want to see more of it I really liked it. But a fucking anti vax guy (YEAH REALLY) was swearing and bitching because there were kids shows on the TV This show was the only comfort I fucking had. Craig was spoonfeeding me comfort with his little freeze to death without your winter clothes adventure (RIP to him but I’m different)

But yeah. Once being treated it was all really nice. My ability to make constant jokes about fucked up injury death and suffering is a really good stress relief. Shout out to the xray tech who totally understood I use dark humor to cope and in response to my joke about how if I was a horse they'd just shoot me that I would “make wonderful glue” the other people were also very kind but I kinda felt they were intimidated by how “jovial” I was about the whole thing. Like yeah. I’m “handling it well” because that’s my whole strategy. Inside I’m screaming “please not the plates please not the plates please not the plates” (I am scared of having metal plates and screws.) Fortunately the stupid little cringe bone broke just low enough on the bone that I don’t have to get the plates and screws. I was literally begging Spot and she answered.

In my moment of weakness I decided that the true nature of the “Spot Power” is that she makes it so that when I’m going through shit I’m always “being so brave about it”

I kept thinking about how Cazza thought I had abandoned her though and while roommate did give her her evening walkies she was stressed and puked on the walk. Which fucking ruined my life and I cried more hearing that than the fucking leg.

So yeah. In canada crutches and the foot boot actually cost money. I’m out like 100 dollars. Plus like 30 because roommate wanted gas. I’m just used to it by now. I definitely need to plug Cazza’s gofundme again now though. Have no clue how I’m even going to take her to her appointments. I am hesitant to hope that roommate will give her as good walks as she needs.

There were more tears over the fact that I was going to fail Cazza than that I actually broke my fucking ankle.

This shouldn’t be a shock. I knew that eventually my visual impairment and my physical disability were going to team up on me and fuck up my body even worse somehow. Always thought it was going to be stairs though. A small comfort is apparently the x ray department has had four other people come in about the exact same curb. Yeah I kid you not. The curb between the redacted dollar store and the redacted pet store confirmed for Heart of Darkness 2: Andy Ankle Adventure

They were supposed to give me more pain meds but I guess I didn’t pick them up or they forgot or something. My brain is fried so i have no idea at all.

Crutches are a massive learning curve for someone with depth issues and balance issues. I almost fell face first on the goddamn crutches several times. If I wasn’t broke and you know, if I couldn’t fucking not leg broken walk leg I would go to hardware store and make a wheeling seat thing like those scooters in gym class and then I’d have Cazza pull me on walks. That would work.

Big issue is in and out of our place is fucking stairs. Yeah. I crawled up them on hands and knees. No way in hell with my already fucking broken mobility could I go crutches up them. I have to hold onto railing or I fall down stairs so crawling it was.

I can technically take the boot off to sleep but the tightness makes it so much better so fuck that. Wish I had the rolling elementary school gym class scooter so I could drag myself around the house.

Cazza doted on me like nothing else. She tried to brace me going up the stairs but she’s not big enough for what I’d need with this fucking leg problem. She helped me change out of my clothes though. Even though she’ll never be certified she’s still my everything.

The she cuddled close to me until I had calmed down and now she’s fast asleep in her bed. I am so glad I ended up giving her her bath before going out.

I am going to attempt to make it to my bloodwork appointment tomorrow. I have rescheduled that due to chemo appointments too many times.

I can’t remember if I’m forgetting anything else. Honestly my roommate telling me the exact same shit my mom did just fucking hurt so bad. I think I know my own body better than you do. Like I’ve told him about how she didn’t believe me and I had to beg her to take me to the hospital and he ended up doing the exact same shit. All because I didn’t outwardly exhibit being in enough pain apparently.

I just hate how being disabled you always have to fucking prove you’re disabled. Like I was expected to somehow walk back to the house and up the stairs but when I got to go to the ER yeah fucking broken lol.

I just wish I had parents. I need taking care of. I always did and I never got it.

I’m scared for the future. I don’t know how I’m going to manage or how I’m going to provide for Cazza.

I wish breaking my ankle could have made Cazza’s cancer go away

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 5

Hey y’all! Thanks for your continued support. I love reading your comments and every like makes me feel more and more confident in my writing ability. 

CONTENT WARNING: talk of past abuse and suicide attempts

See the masterpost for more chapters or read on AO3

The salon was unnaturally busy since Langdon arrived. Everyone seemed to have the same idea — keep an eye on those who have met with the man and wait for them to let something slip. Thing is, those who already had their interview relished in the spotlight, not really revealing anything of worth. 

It had been three whole days since Langdon arrived and Em could glean nothing from her fellow Purples or even the few Greys that whispered to one other in the hall. They viewed Langdon as the second coming of Christ. She couldn’t blame them. Anything would be heaven when compared to the hell Venable had made for them in the outpost. When she couldn’t harm the Purples, the Greys became her target.

Gallant wasn’t as much of a boast as Em had expected, though he made up for that with smugness masked as humility. He was almost as bad as Coco… though that shouldn’t be much a surprise. 

“So…” Coco started, using the same tone she had with Em the night before, “how do you think it went?”

Gallant was stretched out like a cat on the sofa, leaning back and grabbing a glass of water from the tray of the nearest Grey. 

“I think it went rather well,” he said, cradling his drink as a smile pulled across his face, “and I expect another interview very soon.”

Em sighed and glanced over at Andre and Dinah. They had closed ranks, keeping to themselves. Dinah would do anything to protect herself and her son. If it came down to it, Em wondered how far she would go to survive or if she would give in to the call of the void and jump off the roof.

Em had yet to have her interview… an official one, at least. It made her anxious, being one of the few Purples that had yet to sit with Langdon in his office. It was probably his intention, a fact that did little to comfort her. Her heart still raced in her chest at the thought of dying in this tomb. Her fear of life was at war with her fear of death and she was just waiting for one of them to win.

She was used to the anxiety, though it was difficult to manage at times. Standing up to Venable had been good practice for her nerves though her heart still fell to her stomach every time she dared raise her voice. Old habits die hard, she supposed.

Em scoffed at her own train of thought, a small amused smile coming to her lips as she turned her attention away from the group and towards the ever-burning inferno in the fireplace. It reminded her of that one scene in The Avengers when Bruce Banner turned back and said, “That’s my secret — I’m always angry.” 

Replace the anger with anxiety and you’d be able to describe her since the day she was born — an anxious ball of nerves.

Around her, they all spoke of interviews, never giving out too much information and repeating the same things over and over and over. Em had seen high-school students after AP exams with more nerve than them. Langdon had to expect talk, literal life and death be damned. Secrets were hard to keep and harder to hide. 

“I just wish there was a Buzzfeed quiz that could at least give a hint at what our fate will be,” Coco bemoaned. Like Em, she had yet to have an interview. The brunette had yet to work out how she felt being put into a similar category as the young heiress.

“The Victorians used to have a game,” Em spoke, closing her eyes as a buzzing fill her head. She rejoined the group, hoping conversation would make it go away. “Women would hold a candle and a mirror and walk down the stairs backward. They’d look through the mirror to see behind them and it was said one would either see the love of their life or their death.”

Em chuckled to herself and looked at Emily, “though given the number of death-by-stairs of that era the irony is—”

The idea, despite her sarcasm, quickly caught on. Any idea to past the time was a good idea, these days — more so given the circumstance. Emily had roped Em into joining the Bloody Mary-esk game.

First to go had been Coco, naturally. Next was Gallant, then Dinah. Andre had refused to join. A game of love and death wasn’t fun when you lost one to the other. Thus, Em found herself standing at the top of the stairs, staring pleadingly at Timothy and Emily to spare her.

The candles of the salon had been put out, leaving only the candles of the upper balcony to light their way. The darkness was still enough to make her uncomfortable. Em felt like she was alone again, screams coming from her phone as the walls shook around her. She liked her nightmares to stay in her sleep.

“Really?” Em groaned as Timothy held out a mirror and candle, “Why can’t I just go to the library and—”

He was grinning clearly enjoying himself, “consider it karma.”

“If I die I will haunt your ass.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?”

Em opened her mouth to retort only to be cut off from someone down below.

“Don’t be a pussy!” Coco called from the bottom of the stairs, followed by chuckled from her fellow Purples waiting below. Em sent a scathing look towards her friends.

“Alright!” she relented, taking the objects from Timothy, “Fine!”

With a smile, Emily came forward and gently eased her friend to the first step. 

“Have fun,” she whispered, far too amused.

“Oh, fuck off,” Em muttered, smiling despite herself. 

Em used one foot to feel for the edge of the step. Suddenly, memories of being a little girl in gymnastics flew through her mind, feeling for the bar underneath her feet, falling to the hard mat below that smelled like feet. She had quickly learned she wasn’t one for the sport.

She was pulled from autopilot by a flash of gold in the mirror, startling her just enough to miss the step ever slightly, her ankle bending awkwardly and causing her to fall down the last few steps. She could hear the mirror shatter as hands came to steady her fall. Instincts made her favor saving the candle over the wounded ego that awaited her below. If this place were to burn a few bruises would be the least of her concerns. The thought of it alone scared her half to death, the menace of fireplaces and large skirts with far too many layers. 

It took a moment for Em to realize she was on solid ground, quickly jumping back from the hands that were resting on her arms. Langdon stood there, unfazed and patient as a saint. His hands returned behind his back as he let her gather her bearings.

The room was silent, everyone watching with wide eyes. Emily stood at the top of the steps, mouth still wide with a gasp behind her hands. Langdon seemed to be waiting for her to speak, waiting for anyone else to break to silence. He wanted to see who would break.

“Well that’s one hell of an entrance,” Gallant said with a laugh, leaning on the banister next to Coco and the rest of the Purples. 

Em and Langdon simply stared at one another. She saw his lip quirk ever slightly when the hairdresser spoke — annoyance.

Langdon finally spoke, ignoring the man behind him, “It’s time for your interview.”

He strode past her and she followed. She may have a rocky relationship with life, but she was no fool.

                                          --------------------------------------

Sitting in that chair made her feel like she was about to be swallowed whole. If not for the corset holding her spine as straight as a ruler, she’d be tempted to slouch into it and allow herself to be consumed.

Langdon liked to let things sit, she realized. Sometimes the best first move was no move at all. The anxiety in her made her want to fill the silence, spare herself from doing nothing as he pulled out his files. Her toe tapped in her shoe, but that was all the fidgeting she’d allow herself to do. Everything was a test. For once, her anxiety was serving her well. 

Tossing a file on the desk he took a seat across from her. His hands rested on the arms of his chair and he leaned back, cocking his head as he watched her.

“What is your sexual orientation?” he finally asked.

“Flexible.”

He almost seemed to smirk, but the lights liked to play tricks on her, “I require a more specific answer… you understand.”

“I’m on the asexual spectrum,” she answers, “but I am romantically interested in both men and women.”

“So you have no desires of the flesh?”

“An idea is better than reality. It’s a spectrum and...it’s complicated.”

He leaned forward on his chair, “so you do experience attraction.”

“Emotionally, yes, but I’ve found relationships to be… stressful.”

This seemed to intrigue him, his head turning. It kind of reminded her of a dog, narrowing in on a sound or a curiosity. 

“Stressful?”

Of all the questions — of all the tics to have...damn her anxious rambling. 

“Like I said,” Em repeated, “ideas are better than reality. I’ve tried the whole…”

She gestured to nothing in particular, “… dating thing. Every time I try and get into a relationship it just feels… wrong.”

Langdon looked down at the file he had out, “and when was your last relationship?”

Em sighed, “Is that really important?”

“Let me be very clear,” Langdon spoke, voice betraying his aggravation as he placed both hands on the desk, “Your success in these interviews depends on your honesty. If you hedge, I will know. If you lie, I will know. If you try to trick me, I will know, and this interview will be over.”

“And I’ll die,” she finished for him, “suspected as much.”

“Good,” Michael said with a nod, retreating back in his seat, “now, as to my question.”

Em waved a dismissive hand, “My last date was just a while before the bombs. Didn’t work out.”

Langdon’s face was once again an iron and unreadable mask as he wrote something down. The corner of his lip twitched as if he hadn’t gotten the answer he wanted.

“What?” She found herself asking him, “I thought such an answer would please you — narrow down the pool of survivors to those... better at those sorts of things..”

His eyes trained on the file, giving Em the sense that he was more focused on it that her words, “Just because you have no desire to copulate with a man doesn’t mean you can’t repopulate.”

Em could only shake her head, “god, you make childbirth sound worse than I imagine it to be.”

“There are no gods here,” he was quick to correct, “this is the apocalypse. Those who survived the fire have been abandoned.”

This time Em cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing ever slightly as she tried to figure him out, “for a man who seems so opposed to the thought of god you certainly know your bible facts.”

Michael smirked and clicked his pen, bringing the file to his lap, “only the parts that interest me.”

He quickly went back to questioning her, voice sounding more robotic as he read the question word for word.

“How, exactly, do you feel about childbirth?”

He looked up at her as she paused, a brow raising at her silence. Em bit her lip as she considered what to say, hands reflexively going to her hair as he continued to stare.

“It terrifies me,” She admitted, “but luckily the brain masks the memory of it due to trauma.”

“What about it terrifies you?”

She thought such an answer would be obvious, “The pain.”

Once again he seemed interested in her words, expression full of judgment, “you fear pain?”

“I’d be foolish not to.”

“Some would argue that it is a sign of weakness,” he noted.

“Courage is not the ability to be fearless, but to continue on despite the fear,” she told him, voice steady with the words she had told herself a million times before, “we fear pain because that fear keeps us alive.”

“What else do you fear?” He asked, once again leaning forward.

“Quite a few things,” Em said, leaning back in her chair as she became more comfortable. Rambling was equally a tic and a coping mechanism. Langdon intended to that to his advantage. “Some rational… some irrational.”

“Such as?” 

“Rational or irrational?”

“Either.”

“Spiders, roaches,” she lists, looking up at the ceiling as she thought, “typical, I know. Then again, roaches may have survived this nuclear winter so perhaps not so irrational as one would think.”

The amusement seemed to return to Langdon’s eyes. He dipped his head down to hide his expression from her, but she had already seen enough.

“…Dolls,” she admitted after a pause, “creepy little things.”

He didn’t move to speak so she filled the silence for him, “Psychologists say it’s because they are not quite human. Our minds can’t decide between viewing them as objects or beings… subconscious and all that. The uncanny valley, I think they call it.”

Her voice trailed off. She knew how she sounded rambling off facts. Langdon looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Deeps waters so dark you can’t see your feet,” She continued to list, voice growing more distant the deeper she dove into her own mind, “yelling men, death.”

“What about death scares you?” 

Silence, then finally an answer, “Becoming nothing.”

“You don’t believe in god.”

Not a question. Em sighed. This was always a difficult conversation to have. “I believe that I cannot claim there is a god.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am mortal... human”

Langdon hummed, jotting something down before he looked back to her. They both sat in silence until Langdon broke from her gaze, flipping through the files. No doubt hunting for more questions.

“Does it really feel like falling asleep?” She asked before she could think, “the poison in those vials?”

“Why would I lie to you?” he countered, offense glinting in his eye as he looked up at her.

“It’s not that you lie,” She corrected, shaking her head, “but that you don’t know the truth yourself. Lethal injections were supposed to be painless, but they merely gave the appearance of a calm death.”

“The pain… and nothingness,” he notes, referencing her previous words, “...things you fear... You seem quite convinced of a void-like afterlife.”

“I tried to kill myself when I was young.” She admitted, not sure why. The words just left her.

Langdon halted in his actions. His voice was quiet, almost sympathetic. “How young?”

“Which time?”

He was quick to change the conversation, raising to his feet and crossing the room. Em didn’t take her eyes off him, partly out of intrigue and partly out of paranoia. There was a table with a water pitcher and some glasses. He filled up two and turned around, stopping by her chair and holding out one of the glasses.

Hesitant, she reached out and took it from his hands. Langdon noted she made special care not to touch his hand.

“You’ve spoken of fear... But what about your anger?” he prompted, choosing to lean against the desk instead of returning to his chair. Em waited for him to take a sip of his drink before she did.

“The two are often related,” she noted.

“That they are.” He agreed before insisting, the fire in the room more prominent in his eyes, “tell me... what enrages you?”

“Generally?” She countered, “or specifically?”

He smiled and shook his head, “either.”

“Anger and any emotion come at random. It cannot be controlled.”

“Have you ever lost control?”

“Yes, but it was long ago.”

“How long?”

“I was a child,” she said, frowning as she was forced to remember bits of her past she had buried long ago… burned from her mind, “yet to learn that anger is fine as long as you know how to manage it.”

“What did you do?”

“Tried to bash someone’s head into a concrete floor,” she told him with a frown. It certainly wasn’t one of her finer moments. One that she regretted deeply.

“What was their crime?” Langdon pressed, far too amused than was healthy. He really was insistent about everything, wasn’t he? 

She looked to her glass as she pulled the memory out, a rueful grin pulling at her lips, “stealing a dress-up shoe.”

When she looked up at the man she couldn’t help but laugh, a short laugh but a laugh none the less. It threw the man off, staring at her like she had grown an extra head. 

“That amuses you?”

“You’re expression,” she said, “you were obviously expecting something more. I was a child, in my defense.”

“And when you weren’t a child?”

He watched as something flashed in her eyes, a familiar fire. Langdon’s face suddenly wasn’t all that amusing.

“I learned that violence isn’t the only way to hurt someone.”

“But certainly is the most satisfying,” he sighed, taking another sip of water, “wouldn’t you agree?”

“A martyr would see their death as a triumph,” Em reasoned, “to deny them that death would be far more painful.”

“And your father,” he noted, closing the file. Em’s jaw clenches at the mere mention of the man. Langdon knew he hit an Achilles heel. “What punishment is worthy of him?”

Em stared at the file before him. She wasn’t stupid. He probably had any and all documentation of her life from therapy sessions to many angry written tweets. 

If she was being honest, she hadn’t thought of the man since the apocalypse. There were more threatening dangers than a narcissistic, vile — 

Her answer comes quicker than Langdon expected. Her eyes meeting his full of hate and fury.

“To spend the rest of his days slowly rotting from radiation. To be helpless and forced to face that even the smartest men are at the whims of the world around them.”

This was the answer he was looking for.

He was looking right into her mind and reading her thoughts... or at least that’s how it felt. Langdon was diving deep into the parts of herself she buried down, raising them up like some sort of psychological necromancer.

“Fascinating,” He leaned forward with a sadistic grin. “Tell me more about him.”

The tenseness in Em’s body was no longer from anxiety, but restraint. The mere mention of that man was enough to make her see red. There was a reason she hated Venable. The over-seer was far too similar to the man she’d prefer to forget.

“I’d rather not,” she told Langdon, hoping he’d let it rest. She wasn’t even surprised at his pushing.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because remembering gives him more power over my life than I want him to have!” She snarled, a pale, tightly clenched fist coming to slam into the arm of her chair. It sat there for a moment before shaking fingers curled away from the palm of her hand.

His hand reached out to hers, curled around the arm of her chair like a claw. The blond waited for her tension to cease, the white around her knuckles to disappear. 

“What did he do to you?”

Her rage quickly returned and she snatched her hand from the man, hissing “What does that have to do with survival?”

“A great deal,” he explained, unfazed as always, “our past traumas can be indicative of future actions.”

He let her seethe in silence. She knew she would not be able to leave the room until she gave him the answer he wanted. 

“The first memory I have of him,” she proceeded, speaking slowly as the words threatened to rip her apart, “he grabbed my arms so tight I thought they’d break and screamed at me after I dropped a glass of milk.”

“How old were you?”

She shook her head and offered a half-hearted shrug, “the counters were taller than I was.”

When she finally leaned back in her seat all Langdon could see was a scared shell of a child trying to hide from the bogey-man. What would emerge from the tightly wrapped cocoon of trauma? Or had the creature already spread its wings?

“What else?”

Langdon’s voice was gentle, but she was not buying the act. 

“Isn’t that enough!” she snapped, “Every word that left my mouth and every step I took was like walking on eggshells.”

She shook her head, a buzz beginning to fill her body, “and I wish I broke more of them instead of being afraid. I wish I-”

Langdon rounded her chair and squeezed her shoulder, the other pulling out a handkerchief and holding it out to her. She only pulled away from his touch.

“You don’t like physical affection,” he noted.

“Not from strangers.”

Langdon took a step back, curling the handkerchief around his fingers as he returned them behind his back.

“A physical examination is also required,” he said, voice back to the no-nonsense tone he addressed everyone with. “I can call Venable if you prefer but we both know she would not be fair in her examination.”

“My mom was a nurse,” Em said, turning to the man who stood just to her right, “A physical exam doesn’t mean what you are implying. So unless you’re going to test my blood and record my weight for your file —”

“Your file says you have a history with illness,” Langdon noted, grabbing it off his desk.

“Father smoked when I was a kid. Didn’t care about his own lungs and certainly didn’t care about mine.”

“What about your migraines?” he asked, reading down the list.

“Not terrible, but not entirely pleasant, either.”

“And your depression?”

Em scoffed, “it’s the end of the world. We’re all depressed.

Closing the file, he tossed it back onto his desk, “you’re the only one here that does not have a companion.”

Emotionally and physically tired, Em was ready for the interview to end. Survival or not, the line of questioning was lengthy and intense. 

“We’re all companions,” She said, forcing a smile she usually saved for customer service or Coco, “are we not?”

“Not in a deep manner,” he noted, “Venable has Mead, Coco has Gallant, so on and so forth. Perhaps not the companions they wished for, but companions none the less.”

“I have Emily.”

Langdon shrugged, sitting in his chair like a kind on his throne. “When she’s not with Timothy.”

“You seem to watch us quite closely.”

“I’m tasked with choosing the people who keep the human race alive.” He said, enthusiastically gesturing to the world around them with a small turn, “I must comb through the choices with a fine-toothed comb.”

The blond had expected tears from her. He had worked his way up to the most important questions, the most emotional scarring memories… but she sat there, dry-eyed and looking like she’d rather toss him into the nearest fireplace than deal with any more of his questions.

“I am content with my own company,” She insisted.

He came back to her seat and caged her in her seat, hands on either armrest, “I thought we agreed not to lie, Emily.”

Nostrils flaring and eyes full of fire, she leaned forward until she was almost nose to nose with the man, gaze unwavering, “I’m not lying.”

He eyed her up and down in a way that made her feel like he was looking into her head or skinning her alive with his mind. Finally, he retreated. “Loneliness emanates from you in waves.”

“I said I was content in my own company, not that I liked being alone.”

Langdon’s brows knitted together, “are they not the same thing?”

“They are intertwined,” she told him, “but can exist separately. Thoreau wrote about it… Solitude I think he called it.”

“Are you lonely?”

“I think we all are… some of us just deal with it better than others.”

“And how are you dealing with it?”

He seemed to cling onto her words when she spoke. Timothy, Emily, and herself loved to speculate on philosophy and the nature of their own humanity, but the other two were more of scientific minds than poetic. Talking to Michael… well, she didn’t know how to feel. 

“One must learn to be content with their own company before they can be content in the company of others,” Em said, “I try to think of it as some sort of test of character.”

“But are you content?”

Em smiled at the question, whatever doubt or anxiety in her bones completely gone and replaced with something Langdon couldn’t quite place.

“Never.”

                               -------------------------------------------

“Thank you for your time,” Landon said, holding the door open for her to leave.

The interview had felt like an eternity and an instant all at once. Em kept her distance from him as she passed through the door.

“Is that a genuine sentiment or a warning of my possible demise?” 

Langdon smirked, “it’s whatever you want it to be.”

She scoffed. It was a stretch to expect any answers from the man. He went to speak once more, but something down the hall caught his attention down the hall. 

Stepping back, his features went blank. “Until next time.”

Em glanced down the hall to see Emily just standing there, lips twisting as she waited for her friend to get closer. When the brunette glanced behind her, she found the door to Langdon’s office closed. Lips pressing into a thin line, she made her way over to Emily.

As soon as Em was within reach, Emily was pulling at her arm and glancing over her shoulder like Langdon was hot on their heels. 

“How was your interview?” she asked. 

“How was yours,” Em countered with a smile which quickly fell as she saw her friends face. “… what’s going on?”

Already tripping over her own feet as Emily tugged her along, she nearly toppled over as the girl pulled her into a nearby room. Em had barely a moment to right herself as her friend shut and locked the door behind them.

“We have… varying opinions,” Emily finally answered, glancing at Timothy. Em nearly jumped at the sudden presence of the boy leaning against a table with his arms crossed. It looked like a sort of break room… or at least where Venable was staring excess tables and chairs. There was a surprising lack of order to the objects strewn about… definitely storage. 

Em righted herself, brushing out her skirt as she looked between the pair. “Which are?”

“Emily thinks we should make a run for it.”

“Timothy!”

Em sighed and looked to the heavens for guidance as Emily stared daggers at her boyfriend. She had planned to gradually work up to her proposal, but Timothy wanted to get this over with before anyone noticed their disappearance. 

“That sounds like a terrible idea.” Em sighed. Timothy made a small gesture to her before giving Emily a look that screamed ‘I told you so.’

“Langdon survived!” Emily tried to reason, looking between the pair, “so can we!”

“Langdon has access to more resources than we do,” Em said.

“We’re smart. We can—”

“Figure it out? Emily, we can’t even figure out how our own outpost is run and, trust me, I’ve tried.”

Emily was exasperated, looking at the other two as if they had lost their fucking minds.

“We can’t just sit here and wait to die!”

Em pinched her brow, feeling the buzzing feeling return once more, “I’m not putting my life on the line to play hero like were in some YA novel.”

“That’s what I said,” Timothy sighed.”

Emily was livid, gaping for a moment before throwing her arms up in anger. Her hands came to rest upon her head as she paced back and forth. 

“What’s with you two?” She demanded, gesturing violently at Em, “you practically jump at the opportunity to oppose Venable!”

“This is bigger than airing someone’s bullshit,” Em said, trying to keep her voice even and calm, “It’s suicide. Have you forgotten the state of the world?”

“Have you forgotten the world?” Emily countered, “it wasn’t great but there were rules, opportunity… order.”

Timothy could only look between the two women as they engaged in debate. Things were stressful enough. Last thing they needed was to tear the other apart.

“I’m not saying our situation is great. But if we try to leave, we die. Plain and simple.”

“Not if we have a plan,” Timothy finally spoke, both girls finally turning to face him.

“Langdon…” He spoke, taking a moment to find the words, “there’s something wrong about him. I don’t trust him.”

Em scoffed, blood still boiling, “tell us something we don’t know.”

“Those snakes were dead!” He exclaimed. Em’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t wrong, but none of them could even begin to find out what it meant… if it meant anything at all.

“So Langdon is a necromancer,” Emily sighed, shaking her head at the absurdity of this new argument, “how does that change anything?”

“We don’t have to die here,” Timothy said, looking between the two, “we wait and then follow him to the sanctuary.”

“And how do we get in?” Em said, nose scrunching as she thought of a million ways the plan could go wrong, “security protocols here sound an alarm if you simply come within a football field distance of the outpost.”

“How do you—?”

The brunette waved a dismissive hand, “it helps to be nice to the prison guards.”

“We need to act,” Emily emphasized for what felt like the hundredth time.

“We need to get all the facts!” Timothy countered.

“We need to wait!” Em snapped. She was tired and emotionally spent and done with this conversation. “I don’t want to die without a fight, but we need to keep our heads low. It’s barely even been a week. We’ve all only had one interview.”

“Time is running out,” Emily hissed, leaning on the table and looking like she was going to strangle the girl on the other side.

“Time will run out faster if anyone hears a single word of this conversation! I won’t die because of a misstep!”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Mine!” Em practically shouted, “just like everyone else in this fucking place!”

Emily scoffed, stepping back and crossing her arms, “so we’re just scraps.”

“That’s not what she’s saying,” Timothy reasoned, reaching out for his girlfriend who only pulled away from his touch.

“Whatever,” she huffed, rounding the table and glaring daggers at Em as she stormed out of the room, “if you won’t do something, I will.”

The buzzing in Em’s head intensified as Emily slammed the door shut behind her. She rose a hand to ease the headache that threatened to appear, a flash of light exploding behind her eyes. For a moment she swore she saw something — Emily and Timothy… eyes staring blankly at the ceiling with foaming mouths. 

Em moved towards the door, hoping to try and reason with the other girl, but was stopped by a hand on her arm. Timothy smiled at her, expression pity-filled and tired. 

“I’ll talk to her.” He reassured, “Don’t worry.”

Em could only sigh, “I don’t want her to die a martyr, but if we act too hastily that’s what she’ll become.”

“Just let her cool down. Her interview… all our interviews have us on edge.” 

                                          ------------------------------

Em stared up at the ceiling as she laid in her bed. She used to do that back when the world was alive, listen to the passing cars and people outside her window… the birds chirping and the breeze dancing through the trees. Now there was just silence… so much she could hear her blood pounding in her ears. Desperately, she tried to recall the sounds — like the faces of the dead, they had faded from her mind.

The fight with Emily had her worried. Friends fought… that was just reality and you couldn’t spend a year and some change in quarantine with someone and not get annoyed with them at some point. But this fight… it wasn’t over something simple — a tendency to be late or forgetting a birthday.

With a sigh, Em sat up and stared at the floor instead of the ceiling. This was why she did things on her own. It certainly made executive decisions easier. The greater good was all Emily cared about, but Em…

She was so tired of sacrificing herself for others… for the grander design. It was what she did all her life. Em kept quiet about her father because he was the only hope she had of getting through college. She let people use her again and again in the name of friendship, draining her dry until there was nothing left but sunken remains.

Michael was right. Everyone else had someone to rely upon. Em had to look after herself. 

Em focused on the feel of her hands on her hair, fretting at the ends. She frowned at the roughness of the ends — overdue for a trim. Reaching back towards her desk, Em paused. Venable had confiscated her sewing kit, scissors and all, on the pretense of “hoarding supplies.”

Sitting for a moment, she reluctantly rose to her feet and wandered down the hall. Each step she questioned her judgment, but still, her hand rose to knock at Gallant’s door.

“Ugh,” a voice groaned on the other side, “what?”

Twisting the doorknob, Em poked her head into the room. Gallant had been laying in his bed, now propped up on one side as he looked at her.

“Can I borrow your scissors?” she asked.

He looked her up and down, “why?”

“I want to do arts and crafts,” she found herself saying, deadpan.

The hairdresser’s face contorted into disgust, “those are quality—”

Em rolled her eyes, “calm down, I just want to trim my split ends and the supplied conditioner really isn’t helping.”

Gallant finally rose to his feet.

“Do you even know how to use them?”

“They’re scissors.”

This time he rolled his eyes, wandering over to his vanity and motioning for her to sit down. She eyed him, coming into the room but not moving to the chair.

Gallant sighed, “this is a one time offer.”

“You’re petty, Gallant.”

He shrugged his shoulders, not moving to deny the fact as he arranged his tools, “and?”

“How do I know you won’t make me look like a soccer mom asking for the manager at McDonald’s.”

The man smirked and waved a comb in her direction, “because hair is the one thing I hold sacred in this cesspool of an apocalypse.”

Em eyed him for a moment before wandering over to the chair and sitting down. Gallant looked at her, obviously not expecting her decision. “That was easier than I thought it would be.”

“I know where you sleep.”

She could see Gallant smirking in the mirror, “touche.”

He continued to get his supplies ready before analyzing her hair. 

“How was your interview?” He asked, breaking the silence.

“Tense. Yours?”

He shrugged, searching through his drawer for something, “alright. I guess. It’s not like we have a basis for comparison.”

“It feels like he’s reading your thoughts,” She found herself saying without thinking.

“Yeah,” Gallant chuckled, “it’s like he has fucking x-ray vision.”

“Remember when they used to have those spy-devices marketed to kids?” Em recalled, earning another amused smile from the hairdresser.

“You think Langdon’s following us around with a nice iPhone attached to a toy car?” Gallant asked, leaning on the back of the chair with his other hand on his hip.

“What if this whole place is bugged?”

“Normally I’d say you sounded like you were on LSD, but I wouldn’t doubt it.” He admitted, “might as well put on a show, right?”

“What if it’s like the fucking Hunger Games and we’re the entertainment.”

Gallant laughed, “this whole thing makes me feel like I’m in an indie-film fest.”

Finally, he began to work on her hair. Hands ran through the locks, figuring out the texture and thickness. 

“How is your hair so soft?” He asked, running through it with a comb for good measure.

“Virgin hair.”

“You’re telling me you never styled your hair.”

“I never had to,” Em shrugged, “internet was full of natural solutions.”

She looked up at him without craning her neck, “rag-curls were a godsend.”

Gallant paused and made a face, “but is the stiff neck really worth it?”

“It is if you do it right.”

The man laughed, “I like you.”

They lapsed into silence once again, Gallant getting lost in the task at hand while Em wandered in her own thoughts.

“I used to have a friend who did hair,” She found herself telling him, “just graduated from cosmetology school. We’ve been friends… were friends for almost 11 years.”

Gallant was only partly paying attention to the conversation, “Was she any good?”

“Chopped off my hair right before the bombs dropped,” Em said, a sad smile pulling at her lips, “shit used to be down to my waist.”

“Ballsy,” Gallant approved, “I like it. Feels like I kept getting clients all asking for the same thing over and over.”

“What about Coco?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I love her, but at the end of the day she’s another straight white girl. They never take risks.”

“To their defense, the first time I got a short cut my stylist made me look like I was wearing a fucking bowl.” Em chuckled, “Took me three fucking years to grow back.”

He fluffed her hair a bit, running a brush through it a couple more times before looking at her through the mirror, “Well, I might not have a mister, but I think I did a damn good job.”

Em smiled, “thanks, gallant.”

“Like I said, hair is my passion,” He took the towel from around her neck and shook it out, ”and working without modern appliances is now a personal challenge.”

She ran her hand through her hair, turning in her chair to look at the man as he put his supplies away, “They did some weird shit for hair in the Victorian era.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“About the hair?”

“About the fact that you know about the hair.”

“Like I said: I’m an insomniac and things get weird on YouTube. You want to hear or not?”

Gallant shrugged, “not like I have anywhere else to be.”

Em smiled and went into her explanation, Gallant sitting on his bed facing her.

“So they used to collect wads of hair from haircuts or just natural shedding and they’d use them either as plats or to give more volume… kind of like those ‘insta-bun’ infomercial stuff—”

Gallant was surprisingly attentive to her words, for once actually listening. Sometimes he’d even ask questions. At some point, he gasped and jumped to his feet. 

“You gave me an idea!” he exclaimed, rushing over and turning her to face back towards the mirror, “Stay still!”

“What are you—”

“I need a guinea pig.”

“You’re not going to cut all my hair off, are you?”

“Like you said: you know where I sleep, but,” He mused, “your historical knowledge has given me a way to do this one hairstyle without blow-drying and I want to see if it works.”

Em sighed and looked back towards the mirror, “just don’t make me parade around like a model.”

“Your sacrifice is noted.” Gallant said, “besides, it’s not like there’s anywhere else for you to be.”

                                         --------------------------------

Em scratched at her scalp, still sore from Gallants tugging. The library was quiet, anatomy books scattered around her without a single sight of Timothy or Emily. She imagined the latter was still calming down. God, it hadn’t even been a full day yet.

She looked between the books before her and her sketches. The apocalypse had given her ample time to do studies of all the things she’d always put off. Her sketchbook nearly full, she wondered what she’d do once the final page was completed. At this point, she imagined she didn’t have to worry too much about that.

“You like to read,” A voice mused. This time she didn’t jump, head turning to Langdon as he appeared before her.

“I feel like we’ve already had this conversation.”

He chuckled, “I have to admit, I thought it was performance theater.”

“It’s not like I have a job or anything to pass the time,” she noted, “and there’s no internet.”

Cocking his head, he peered at her drawings from over her shoulder. Em gritted her teeth and tried to not show how much the action bothered her.

“Here to collect me for another interview?” she asked.

He hummed, taking a moment to process her question before responding, “merely observing.”

She closed her sketchbook, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“Why don’t I believe that?”

Another smile was her only response.

“You never mentioned your mother.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t another interview.”

“I said I wasn’t collecting you for another interview,” he noted, coming to sit in the chair beside her, “I’m simply curious.”

“Your curiosity could lead to my own damnation,” Em turned to face him, her shoulder nearly brushing his, “a way to put me under a fine-toothed comb.”

“Curiosity killed the cat?” he offered.

“I’d use the word ‘murdered,’” she scoffed, “don’t know how the rest of the rhyme would apply, however.”

 Langdon wasn’t amused… or at least didn’t let it show, “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Yes,” she said, “last thing I want to do is start in a new world with the shadow of my parents looming over my head.”

“They only loom if you give them the power to do so.”

Em sighed, yielding to her executioner.

“My mother was a co-dependent,” she said, the words rushing out as if they couldn’t get out fast enough, “too afraid to be alone that she’d put up with the worst of men instead of leading a fulfilling life on her own.”

“You blame her,” Michael noted, propping his head on his hand.

“I could have excused the desperation,” Em made abundantly clear, “if she hadn’t emotionally abused me as well — gaslighting and the like.”

“You’d rather be a punching bag?”

“Visible scars are easier to prove in court than those confined to your mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching as she rearranged the books. She was doing anything to not meet his gaze.

“What about you?” she finally asked.

His eyes narrowed ever slightly.

“What about me?” he echoed.

“Who is Mr. Langdon?” she asked before gesturing in front of her, “forgive me, I don’t have a file to reference.”

Langdon smirked. He liked this confidence she was showing. It was as if the end of the world had come about so she could thrive, unafraid and confident.

“Are you trying to interview me?” he asked.

“I may be a dead woman in the next few days,” Em reminded, “humor me.”

Langdon leaned forward once more, “What do you wish to know?”

“What do you fear?”

She noted the look wished flashed before his eyes, a memory… unsavory… traumatic. All Langdon could think of was the voice of Ben Harmon and the wrinkled face of an old woman, the scent of cigarettes and liquor coming from her dead mouth.

“I never could have helped you,” Ben spoke, looking down upon him with disgust.

“Loneliness,” He tells the woman before him, straightening a bit in his chair as he fought to keep the passive facade he wore.

“Fascinating,” she mocked, pulling a smile to his lips, “One would think you are a god, but you are just as human as the rest of us.”

“You think I’m a god?” 

“You hold yourself like one,” Em observed, noting his smugness. His smile faded as she went on. “and I don’t mean it as a compliment.”

She watched Langdon’s lips pressed into a thin line, “Then what do you mean?”

“You’re condescending.”

He scoffed, “Gallant is condescending.”

“But he doesn’t hold our lives in his hands— thank god.”

This time she leaned closer to him, mirroring his previous movements and propping her head on her hand, “knowledge is power and you have done a fine job at keeping that knowledge from us.”

His eyes scanned over her face, “it’s for the best of the human race.”

“And what do you believe is best?” she asked, “what world do you envision?”

A smirk crawled back onto his face, “that’s classified.”

This time she studied him.

“You must hold a high position in this sanctuary.” She observed, “higher than Venable… perhaps even those above her as well.”

“And how do you come to that conclusion.”

“Personal opinions aren’t classified,” She leaned back, putting some distance between them, “but opinions of the larger whole are another nature entirely.”

“Or I could be condescending.”

Langdon watched as she smiled ever slightly. It unnerved him… like she had seen something he hadn’t meant her to.

“… Or you could be condescending,” Em echoed. There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. “For someone so afraid of loneliness you seem to have backed yourself into quite the corner.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. She watched him, completely at ease despite her interrogation. It was as if he always had a knife behind his back ready to impale someone upon it.

“You have some plan, then?”

“If you’re prepared for the worst then you’re ready for the best.”

“A good mentality to live by,” Em nodded, “but speaking of preparation brings up more questions.”

“Such as?”

“This place is made for us to survive the nuclear winter,” she notes, “but it is so unequipped for the task.”

Langdon raised a brow, “you think you could do better?”

“Yes,” she answered quite quickly and resolutely, “natural light, for one.”

“On what electricity?” he prompted.

“Hydro-electricity, wind,” she says, “batteries, even.”

He scoffed, “you make it sound easy.”

“You’re part of a doomsday group,” Em reminded him, “For fuck's sake, even the government has a library of seeds for this situation. Self-sustainability is the most important part of our survival.”

Langdon shook his head and laughed before looking at her once more, “oh, I like you.”

Em eyed him, “I’m afraid I haven’t quite decided if the feeling is mutual.”

“Most of you are so preoccupied with winning I was starting to doubt the efficiency of The Cooperation,” he says, “salivating like dogs over the last bone.”

“Desperation certainly gives insight into true natures.”

“That it does.”

Langdon rose from his seat, straightening out his jacket before walking towards the door, “I look forward to speaking to you again.”

Mulling over his words, Em stayed only momentarily — long enough that she wouldn’t run into the man again on her way out. Though she didn’t put it past him to lay in wait at the door. Collecting the books before her, she began to put them away.

She knew the library like the back of her hand now. Organized it herself. The Cooperative didn’t seem to care what order the books were put in, a testament to their last-minute planning. The brunette didn’t mind it. There was little to do to amuse oneself these days. 

When she finally meandered back to the table, she found a book wide open on its surface. Chalking it up to her own forgetfulness she approached, brows furrowing as she realized which book it was.

Turning around, she looked for a sign of any sign of Emily or even Langdon. Mind games were certainly the latter's forte. Every hair on her body was standing on end, goosebumps rising on her arm and she turned and turned, looking for a sign of a single soul.

Finally, heart hammering in her chest, she approached the book. It was opened to another spell she hadn’t noticed before, meant for finding something lost.

“Quod est super me manus quondam sciebant,” she mouthed as she read, “revertere ad me quid suo mihi admondum est alicui licentiam.”

She shrieked as the candles went out around her, an echoing chorus coming from outside the library as a gust of wind raced throughout the outpost. Hands went to cover her head as she crouched on the ground as if she expected the world to cave in around her.

Her heart wanted to burst from her chest, eyes frantically looking here and there only to find nothing.

“Emily?” She called out, voice cracking in fear, “Timothy?”

All she could hear was the screaming voices, begging for salvation. Whimpering, she backed up until she could feel a wall, slowly sinking to the floor as she covered her ears which did nothing to drown out the screaming that echoed in her head. 

Timothy was right, something was wrong about this place.

[ravenempress101]

CEO of Burning Lust *Requested* Drew Ray Tanner Charles Melton

Authors note: I loved this request with all my heart like drew and Charles together there a whole vibe and mood that is so phenomenal I hope you love it sweetheart and hun thank you so much!!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️ I appreciate it a million I swear 🤤🤤🤤☺️🥺

Warnings: possessive!drew, hickies, manhandled, cheating,dark!Charles,threatening, roughness,kissing, real stars name

glasses being passed form one person to another. Drew captured one in his hand as he passed it toward y/n. then he grabbed the glass of champagne for himself.Drew snaked his arm around your waist as he took his bottom lip in between his teeth. Taking his slender index finger intertwining with the ruffles on your Victorian dress. drew loved every inch of you. you were the sunshine within him.

y/n smiled and leaned into his board frame.y/n teased drew while toasting her glass toward his with a clink. the crowd erupted in cheers and shouts. As a man with a black blazer and sloppy raven locs stepped out from the double doors. walking down from the steps toward yourself and your lover. a grin with dimples appeared on his face.

'Oh My Gosh, Y/n yes you made it love.'

Charles cheering toward y/n.Drew adjusted his tie and brought yourself closer toward him.therefore drew being territorial over what was his. the alarming words of her CEO made his blood boil.

'i did, how could i miss this party'

y/n escaped from drew's grasp. He furrowed his eyebrows at yourself his skin flared beet red. y/n scanned over at drew her face wore a puzzled expression and her lips pierced.

“that dress, you look stunning like always.”

Charles knocking her out of her puzzled formed. y/n laughed and bowed her head at his compliment. just as Charles orbs trailed up and down your chubby body. He embraced y/n in a hug. she leaned into him. y/n melted in the hug. Drew saw your eyes close toward your boss. He grasp your train with his rough palms pulling on the fabric forcing you out the hug. y/n felt the tug and slipped out of Charles' arms and back into Drew's tan ones.

“Who is this y/n?”

Charles spitefully glanced up and down the man that placed his hand in yours. he rolled his eyes as drew gripped his hand together into a fist.veins popped out of his arms. once y/n placed her soft hand on his strong chest, his hand relaxed underneath her touch. her heart warming smile appeared, drew smiled at the ground while running his calloused fingers over her arm.

“this is my fiance the one i was telling you about.”

drew mouthed "fiance" at Charles. Drew clinched his teeth his veins peeked through his jaw toward him. Charles nodded as a laugh fell from his mouth. he placed his hands in the pockets of his pants while biting the inside of his lip.

"yea yea how can i totally forget drake.”

He spat in venom. drew stepped closer toward Charles while starring at him. his glanced gotten darker as he held out his hand for Charles to shake. He captured his hand in his and they both shook.

“I't’s definitely drew but anyways hello I heard your the CEO of all this I just wanted to say thank you for letting my queen join your team."

'yes i am, its my pleasure"

At the time Charles winked towards your way. drew broke free form his gesture his hand glided on your booty running velvety circles. y/n bite her lip and gazed at drew with a side eye. y/n insides jumped from the naughty act that drew endured.

"Mr. Melton your so funny'

'well y/n definitely take my hand Hun, i want to dance and talk about more of the plans that this cooperation will offer you"

He held out his hand for yourself to take. she turned to her lover while placing both her hands on his cheek gazing in his orbs. glancing from one eye to another finding some approval in his face. drew glanced down at his loafers as a huff spilled out.

'Hmm"

y/n smiled as she placed her heartshappes on his stubble cheek. exactly as she took her steps toward Charles. drew placed his hand on her shoulder, her walking back to drew as he whispered in her ear.

"when you get done with this stupid act your pulling, you know you’ll have to come back to me, which it will be so much worst for you”

Drew plastered a devilish smile while taking your ring finger and placing a gentle peck.

Charles seize your frame. he guides yourself on the floor. while he slow dances your head goes in his shoulder. y/n's orbs found dark raven ones that drew portrayed. he took his thumb in between his teeth and his face turned into disgusted.y/n couldn't take her eyes off of drew.drew's gaze bore into hers. y/n swallowed hard while Charles twirled her around and back into him while drew focused on every movement.

drew fed off of your terrified expression. He mouthed toward your way

"your getting it tonight'

y/n's blood went cold. she shivered from his threat. y/n shook her head in rejection. while Charles song ended for her. he swung her back to drew. y/n collided with his built frame. he caught her, head spinning from the impact.

“god Charles that’s a brilliant idea”

“Yes your own office with a view I need that smile to be seen over all LA”

y/n agreed at his adventure he had for her. when she smiled and nodded at Drew his eyes were narrowed and rigid. a cold expression. her smile wiped off her face as she glanced down at the floor. y/n's body fidget under his menacing look

“your so sweet how can I repay you I-”

“I’m just giving credit where is do but I’ll definitely see ya later I got plans I need to talk over”

“Okay bye thank you”

y/n takes her steps in front of Charles. she leans down into a bow. while He captures her being into a hug.while his plump lips connected to her cheek. coming undone from the hug he disappears toward the other men in suits.

drew raised his hand up waving it in a good bye while he whispered

'yes thank you freckled face.'

y/n rolled her eyes at his smart remark.

'Drew baby that was mean'

at the time her fist slammed into his board shoulder. his hand grabbed his shoulder and he winced toward your hit.

“Baby are you serious you was practically sucking the dudes dick right in front of me.”

Y/n stomping away from the tall men. As she was out of his reach. he picked up his pace toward her an drew captured her shoulders.

“drew really?”

he grabbed y/n's forearm and his grip tighten around her wrist.winces fell upon her lips at Drew’s roughness. He dragged her forward toward the floor.

'Here let’s go on the floor since I haven’t seen you My love all night'

drew swung her chubby body toward him. she fell into his hold. as drew guided her body into a slow waltz.his hand squeezed her side of her waist. y/n hand went down to his as she tried to loosen his grip he didn't budge. he danced forward while y/n fell back from him.y/n's tears welled up in the rim.

“Drew cmon ouch stop”

y/n head rests on the crook of his neck.as he turned both of you leaning down to her ear whispering.

“Oh you not hurting yet baby you wouldn't know the definition of hurt when I’m finished”

As he spun yourself away from him. your arm flew out and he sharply jerked yourself back toward his caramel clothed body. y/n hit him like a brick wall with a whine. drew and y/n danced the night away.

Meanwhile y/n and drew came to there shared home. While y/n made her way toward the master bed room. She took her steps toward the bed while sitting down stripping her high heels from her feet.

“I am so worn out, I’m going to sleep baby goodnight sweet dreams.”

Y/n climbed on her side of the bed rushing under the covers and shutting her orbs tightly from Drew’s. Drew collided with the bed and grabbed your ankles and dragged yourself from out the cover toward him. He gave y/n a death glare. While y/n laid on the bed underneath drew She turned her head avoiding his look.y/n didn’t want to endure what was going to happen in the room tonight. When Drew’s angry he would definitely make you feel every inch of his anger.

“What drew??? Why are you starring at me like you want to throw me?”

Y/n slowly turned her head back to his face. He placed his slender fingers above your neck. Enclosing his fingers with your cheeks. Her face shriveled up. Y/n whined at Drew’s torture. Y/n and Charles were only work partners they would never go over boundaries but drew wasn’t buying any of it.

“You got to be fucking kidding right? After the fli-”

“I can’t even say it”

As drew choked back his words. He loosened his grip on your face.

‘Baby that stuff tonight?’

As y/n raised her body from drew. He forced your frame back down on the bed.Trapping yourself while he’s on top.

‘Hell yes tonight y/n I don’t like him and your always going to be mine.’

As drew gritted his teeth with every word he pointed his ringed index finger toward yourself. His command made your pride shake.y/n prayed the bed could swallow her whole. Y/n couldn’t get out of the trouble she brought upon herself. Nodding and softly spoken to him.

“Drew I wasn’t doing it on purpose baby I need this job, we BOTH need this job.”

“Baby you need to know who owns you and it’s always going to be me”.

Drew placed his heartshappes roughly on your neck.  He kissed and sucked attacking the soft skin.y/n’s soft whimper escaped from her as he licked the sensitive spots he created.y/n squirmed underneath him as drew took your head and turn it to the side exposing your neck. He velvety placed kisses on yourself decorating your throat with blue and purple love wombs.

“I can’t wait for Charles to see those it would crush him right baby girl.”

“Please drew not tonight give me a chance to explain myself

“Explain what darling how you were falling for him well that behavior needs some attention”

Trailing wet kisses on your chest. He made his way toward your shoulder. Placing his finger under the strap of the dress. Falling from your shoulders he slipped it off your body as it pooled on the floor.

“You lost your chance”

Y/n’s pure white lingerie exposed from him. Drew guide his hand to the hem of his button up and slipped it over his body. His clothing being thrown on the dresser. His fingers intertwined with his Calvin Klein’s. His underwear falling toward the floor. He trailed his calloused fingers up and down your love handles. Drew placed pecks on your chubby stomach trailing down to your inner thigh.kissing your thighs. He ran his tongue up your thigh. Y/n’s heat growing from Drew’s warm lips exploring her body.

Close to her aching pussy.placing his tongue on her lingerie covered bud tracing shapes on her.y/n gasps from his mouth on her. Her legs closing in on his head.even as drew grabs her ankle forcing them open. His tongue goes deeper in the crook of her panties Y/n quivers at him making pleasure rose in her love box. Drew scans up at your trembling frame.

As her pussy pulsates around his tongue. He goes in and out of her. Y/n could feel her high lacing her body.drew knew y/n was close he took her covered bud in between his teeth and bit. Her body prickled with the rough ecasty he created. Y/n moaned as she squeezed around him while she spill in her panties. drew kissed up her covered stomach toward her breasts.

Y/n whined from her miss feeling of his tongue. He placed rough pecks on her boob. His tongue wiggling the nipple. As he took it the nipple in his mouth. He nipped at her harden nipple. Sucking as he placed a blue love bite from the fabric.

Y/n’s orgasm leaked through her panties. As drew left her breasts. He placed his heartshappes on hers. Kissing roughly slipping his tongue inside her mouth. Y/n gasps while his strong hands group her innocent body.

Drew placed a rough peck on the side of her swollen lips. As he trailed his hand down to his 9 inches. Pre cum leaked from. He ran his hand up and down his shaft coating himself.y/n starred at Drew’s chocolate lust filled eyes begging.

“No baby please I’m sorry”

Her protest filled his ears. Drew placed his thumb upon her bottom lip velvety on her swollen lips.as he starred in her doe like orbs.

“Darling sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

Slipping his calloused finger on the side of her pantie. Drew pulled the fabric to the side. As y/n dragged herself back to him. He grabbed her closer and positioned himself at her swollen entrance.her legs wrapped around his torso. The hardness he carried made her curse under her breathe.

“Drew please let’s talk this over.”

He placed his palm on her chin. Leaning down toward the side of her face. He plunge his length inside of her. Y/n’s body jolted up from his thrust.his strokes tougher than the last one he accelerated.

“Baby the only sounds from that pretty little mouth of yours that I want to hear is your moans.”

“Mhmm uhhh drew”

Drew roughly slammed in and out of her. Slapping noises fills the room mixed with her breathless winces. Drew placed kisses on your cheek.Her mouth fell agape. His pace quicken.changing his direction inside her. Jabbing her cervix.y/n feeling drew grow as he interject. Y/n held on to his board shoulder while his hand found its way toward the bed post. His other hand griped her torso as he lost in the hard thrusts he performed. Her frame making a strangled moan.

“uh uh uh Daddy please I can’t anymore”

Y/n frame shudders  underneath his warmth as his structure was straight and narrow. Drew’s manhood twitching inside her.y/n’s body wave of conscious going in and out. Her eyes blinking rapidly as her chest rose and falls rapidly.as drew gave a few more rough thrusts his excasty crashed in on him and he shot his sticky white substance in her  womb.y/n felt the liquid dripping out of her made her edge disappeared her high pitch groan painted the walls as drew rode her forced orgasm out.

Y/n pants as drew boomed toward her.

“Yesss daddy drew is here gonna make you cum all night.”

Once she came down from her high. Her sensitivity taken over. Y/n scooted back from his dick. As half of it went out, his body weight crashed on her as his manhood slammed back. Y/n breath hitches as she saw stars cover her vision. He stayed inside her and started to pick back up and he kept his stamina inside y/n’s orbs closed as she felt his semi hard dick. Faster and faster he went her chubby body was losing Consciousness.

“Am I going to fast for you babygirl?” Drew slithered.his words blurred her ears her groans whispered.

“Drew ahhhh”

“Don’t you just hate how you are like this. Gives me reasons to do what I want to you girl”

Y/n raising up as he hits her g spot. Y/n could feel another orgasm prickle her body. Drew felt her vagina pulsate and took himself out of her. Y/n felt the empty feeling she quivers. He replaces his manhood with his tongue and wiggles it inside of her.

“Aweee look how beautiful you cry out”

Her painted fingers made its way into his brown curly locks. Y/n cried out as her legs bucked from his movements. Drew took uphold her thigh and forced it open as he went deeper in her. Screams spilled from her mouth as drew gotten another orgasm to plunge out of yourself He evilly grinned as he devoured her orgasm. Y/n squirted inside his mouth.

Baby please I swear I won’t play around again”

Y/n’s chest rising and falling rapidly. She prayed that Drew would be done torturing her for tonight. She collapsed from he hold on his shoulders. Her body going limp as Her eyes slowly blinking from his pleasure he wanted to give her.

raven spots decorated your orbs as drew ray tanner tortured yourself from the jealous moment that token place that night. He climb on his side of the bed glancing at your tired cum filled body. As his masterpiece he painted.he swiped his middle finger on your wet stomach. His finger coated in your and his juices and placed it in front of her lips. Her tongue made its way on his finger while she licked her lips. Drew knew you were his and Charles could never come close to drew ray tanner.

[crystalstar8]

“Pet Theft” pt. 2

Chapter 2, “Monkeying Around”

tags: violence, action, pet theft, blood, mentions of a hurricane

 The mansion was enormous, Jungkook had always known that. But there was a difference between wandering the halls in search of a bathroom and wandering the premises in search of an unlocked window. There were cameras everywhere, because this guy was a freak, but Jungkook was an expert at spotting and avoiding cameras by now.

           He felt bad thinking of his uncle as a freak, but only briefly. The man was a freak, because even though Jungkook was his family and also a member of the most famous boyband in the world, the man would still have him arrested for coming anywhere near his house. It was fine though. Jungkook knew what he was doing. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

           Jungkook pushed through a rose of Sharon bush and looked up at the second floor window. It was cracked open, letting the summer breeze into whatever room that was. Jungkook had no idea. Despite growing up visiting this house frequently, Jungkook is sure there’s a ton of rooms he still hasn’t seen. Jungkook eyed his surroundings. A few feet from the window was a lattice against the brick wall. A trumpet vine climbed the lattice and continued up into the brickwork. There were no flowers right now though, which was good because Jungkook would have felt bad if he wrecked any. A quick glance around proved the area was free of cameras. Jungkook darted for the lattice and began climbing. He scaled the wall expertly then made a leap for the windowsill. He caught the stone sill and hauled himself up and into the room. His boots hit the carpet and he looked around.

           The room was empty. It was a small office, bookshelves lining the walls and a big desk in the corner, piled with papers and envelopes. A hearth took up the right wall with a painting over it. Jungkook recognized the painting as the work of his cousin, Misun. The two of them shared this particular artistic ability. Jungkook remembered coming to his uncle’s house as a kid and painting with Misun, who is a few years older than him. She was already so good at that age. Jungkook feels like he’ll never catch up to her ability.

           Tearing his eyes away from the painting, Jungkook crept across the carpet and out into the hall. Still no one in sight. He hoped to run into Misun on this mission. She could give him directions in this labyrinth of a house. She definitely wouldn’t call the police on him.

           Eventually, the carpet gave way to hardwood floors. Jungkook took off his boots and crept along the wood in his socks. It was silent, no sign of anyone nearby. He found the stairs and took them down to the first floor, which he was relieved about. He was way more familiar with the first floor. The whole house was 1800’s Victorian style, which was really beautiful and magical, even after all these years and even though Jungkook was breaking and entering. It reminded him of Harry Potter. He remembered when he was about ten years old, his brother and Misun had already read the entire series. They liked to play Hogwarts in this house, making fun of Jungkook whenever he didn’t understand their references to the books. His brother claimed that Jungkook was too young to read them still, since the Harry Potter books were for adults. Jungkook had read them the next year, but by then, his brother and cousin were over playing Hogwarts.

           Those were the last books Jungkook’s read if he’s being completely honest. It’s fine. He’s since spent his time developing other skills, like sneaking around a house undetected.

           Jungkook heard a floorboard creak and leapt for the closest open door. It led into a dark room. He was wearing all black, so he easily melted into the shadows. He peeked around the corner to see his uncle’s second wife walking down the hall. He never called her his aunt. She never acted like an aunt. Misun liked to refer to her step mom as ‘Lucifer’s concubine’, never to her face but Jungkook always found it hilarious.

           The woman walked past the room Jungkook was hiding in and disappeared around a corner. Jungkook let out the breath he was holding. He swung around the corner back into the hall and ran right into someone, fully startling them both and almost knocking each other over. It was Misun. Before she could scream, Jungkook slapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her into the room he was just in, closing the door behind them. He flicked on the light and looked at her with wide eyes. She looked back at him with equally wide eyes. As soon as she recognized him, she sagged in relief, which quickly turned into annoyance. Jungkook took his hand off her mouth and she slapped him in the arm.

           “What the hell are you doing here?” she whispered. “I thought you were a rapist.”

           “I’m stealing another one of your dad’s pets,” he said.

           “Well you’re not being careful enough. You could have run into his wife instead of me. She’s around here somewhere,” Misun said.

           “Yeah, I just saw her,” said Jungkook. “Noona, I need help finding his conservatory.”

           “It’s connected to the dining room, you know that,” said Misun.

           “Yeah, but which dining room? Last time I broke into it, I was in a hurry trying to get away from your dad. I didn’t really see where I was going.”

           “Go down this hall, take a left. Go through the kitchen, into the courtyard. It’s easier to get into it through the courtyard. You’ll see it then,” said Misun. “Be careful. I’ll try to distract them both. Text me when you’re out of the house.”

           “Thank you, you’re the best!” Jungkook said, hugging her. She didn’t hug back.

           “Thank you who?”

           “Thank you noona,” said Jungkook.

           “If you get eaten by a tiger, I’m not coming to your funeral.”

           “I won’t get eaten by a tiger,” said Jungkook.

           “Imagine if you got eaten by a tiger. BTS would fall apart and then the whole Korean economy would fall and everyone would lose their jobs and go hungry. The country would fall into shambles and all your fans would be devastated. How would you feel then?” Misun asked.

           “Well, I wouldn’t feel anything ‘cause I’d be dead,” said Jungkook. “But it’s fine. I’m not taking the tiger this time.”

           Misun rolled her eyes and mumbled, “’Next time.’” She left the room and glared at him once more before closing the door behind her. Jungkook waited a few minutes after hearing Misun call for her parents. Then he opened the door and crept out, following the directions his cousin gave him. He finally made it to the courtyard without being spotted and saw the conservatory in all of its glory. It was beautiful, the domed glass arching over the all glass room. A set of huge double doors led into the conservatory, which Jungkook opened. The sounds of all kinds of animals rang out through the conservatory. Big cats growling, monkeys shrieking, birds squawking…it was a cacophony of unease in Jungkook’s head. He knew these animals weren’t treated right. Most of them were hungry or sick. He tried not to look at most of them as he made his way to one particular cage and tried not to feel guilty that he’d be leaving them behind today. He’d come back for them, he promised himself he would.

           The cage he stopped at held a marmoset, the tiny thing curled up on it’s branch. Jungkook put his boots back on and pulled his backpack off. Out of his backpack, he produced a ziplock bag of carrots and grapes, which Jin had sent him with as a snack. Jungkook took a carrot out of the bag and held it between the bars. The marmoset peeked over at him, eyeing the carrot suspiciously. The little guy made no move to grab the carrot though. Jungkook tossed the carrot back into the bag and pulled out a grape. When he held that through the bars, the marmoset looked at it with a bit more interest. Finally, the monkey sprang into action, jumping off his branch and grabbing onto the cage bars. He grabbed the grape and bit into it, chewing happily.

           Jungkook eyed the padlock on the door of the cage. Maybe he should have looked for keys somewhere, but the padlock didn’t look too strong. At the very least, the hinges of the door didn’t look too strong either. He gripped the bars and held the cage steady with his other hand. The marmoset went back to his branch and watched nervously as Jungkook pulled on the door with all his might. The hinges creaked and the bars buckled. He adjusted his grip and pulled again, this time the whole door breaking off with a loud clang. He winced at the sound as he set the cage door on the ground.

           The monkey shrieked and curled up in the corner of his cage, staring at Jungkook with wide eyes. Jungkook pulled another grape out and set it in front of the monkey, then stepped away. Nervously, the marmoset reached out a tiny hand and grabbed the grape, munching on it slowly. Jungkook reached a hand in to let the marmoset investigate. The little monkey approached slowly, sniffing at his hand and then looking around his palm for another grape. Jungkook pulled out another grape and offered it to him. The monkey snatched the grape away and ate it. Jungkook thought now was the time. He reached out to scoop up the monkey, but the little guy did it himself by climbing up Jungkook’s arm and sitting on his shoulder. Jungkook smiled and put the bag of carrots and grapes back into his backpack. As he slung the bag back onto his back and made his way out of the conservatory, he heard a voice call out.

           “Jungkook! I’ve already called the police you little punk. So you might as well turn yourself in!”

           It was his uncle. The monkey on his shoulder shrieked and grabbed his hair as Jungkook started backing away. His uncle tried to lunge for him, but Jungkook was quicker. He darted away and made a run for the double doors. A hand grabbed his ankle and he crashed to the floor, the marmoset yelling and jumping off of him onto a nearby cage. The lemurs inside went crazy as the little monkey taunted them. Jungkook was dragged by his ankle and his uncle stood over him.

           “How dare you show your face back here,” his uncle growled. “You might as well give up, you little shit.”

           Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer and closer. His uncle pinned him down. Jungkook was probably stronger than the man, but his uncle was bigger and heavier. Jungkook didn’t stand a chance when the man put his weight into pinning him down.

      “Freeze! Don't move!" the police shouted as they burst into the conservatory. Panic coursed through Jungkook. He couldn't get arrested. He had a reputation to uphold. His hyungs would be so disappointed. Army would be even more disappointed. So he did the only thing he could think of. He kicked his uncle's feet out from under him, then leapt to his feet. He reached out an arm and the marmoset jumped to him. Jungkook tucked the monkey into his coat as he ran right for the closest window, jumping and smashing through it. He hit the ground with a roll before getting back up and running. There was a wall around the courtyard, providing privacy to the garden. Jungkook could hear the police behind him, shouting and threatening him. Two apple trees stood by the wall, which Jungkook used to jump between to the top of the wall. Then he jumped down, his boots hitting the pavement.

Back in the city. He took off running still. The little monkey peeked out of his coat. His tiny hands were clutching Jungkook’s T-shirt. This side of the city was not only decrepit and seedy, it was also unfamiliar to Jungkook. Especially since that hurricane hit and everything was either destroyed or underwater.

He had managed to lose the cops by jumping that wall but he wasn't in the clear. They'd be on the lookout for him. He was both famous and carrying a monkey not native to this area even a little bit, so he really had to be careful. He ducked into an alleyway, his boots splashing through the water. The water level was really getting high around here. He could still hear the sirens. The cops were close.

Jungkook's eyes darted around the alley. There was a crawlspace up ahead, a few feet above the water. He sloshed through, then jumped up to grab the ledge, pulling himself up into the crawlspace. The marmoset scampered over Jungkook and into the crawlspace to avoid being squished. The little monkey decided to lead the way from there, Jungkook following close behind. The crawlspace opened up into a bigger tunnel, something that Jungkook could actually stand up in, albeit hunched over. Water dripped from the pipes and grates above. The dripping water and footsteps echoed in the tunnel. Jungkook could barely see ahead of him, so he pulled out his phone flashlight. He didn’t want to step on the marm. The two of them stopped at some point, Jungkook pulling his backpack off and slumping against the wall. He pulled out the bag of snacks and handed a grape to the marmoset’s already outstretched hand. Jungkook began munching on the carrots.

He looked at his phone. A few from the group chat asking where he was. He hadn’t told anyone he was going to do this today. A few texts from Misun. He texted her back that he was out of the house and away from the police. Then he texted the group, letting them know he was safe and not arrested. Then he put his phone away.

The grates above them filtered in some sunlight and the ground here was mostly dry. The marmoset was rummaging through the ziploc bag hanging from Jungkook’s fingers, sorting the grapes from the carrots. Jungkook rubbed the marmoset’s head. His fur was brown and he had a halo of soft fur around his head. He was smaller than what Jungkook was expecting. A pygmy marmoset, if Jungkook’s quick google search back home was anything to go by.

“Jimin hyung would love you,” said Jungkook. “Actually, they'd all love you."

He sighed and stood up, reaching out his arm so the marm could climb up to his shoulders. He packed up his belongings and slung the backpack back on, ignoring the rapid fire texts buzzing in on his phone. As they trekked further into the tunnel, it eventually opened up into a proper maintenance tunnel, complete with dim red lights up on the wall and more water on the ground.

Jungkook imagined his hyungs taking this route and chuckled to himself. They'd be terrified.

The tunnel led them to a set of stairs going down. There was nothing but the sound of dripping water, so Jungkook deemed it safe to go down.

The stairs led to an underground electrical maintenance room, complete with open, sparking wires and two foot deep water. Jungkook sighed and looked around. At the other end of the room, there was an open door. He eyed the best way to get there, then tightened the straps of his backpack.

“Hang on tight, little guy," he said. He didn't know if the monkey actually understood him, but the little marm actually did tighten his grip on Jungkook's hair. He braced against the stairwell and jumped for the nearest generator machine, just barely grabbing the pipes and missing the water. He climbed to the top of the generator. There was a desk below, an old, gutted desktop computer sitting on the surface. Jungkook climbed down onto that, then continued on in this fashion - jumping and climbing his way to the door to avoid the water.

The door ended up conveniently leading to a few stairs above the water, which Jungkook made the leap to. The rubber of his soles barely grazed the water. From there, after a few twists and turns through the halls, Jungkook found himself in what used to be a casino. Some of the slot machines were still on, providing some kind of light. But most were either flickering or completely dead. Some were totally gutted, the cash inside stolen. The garbled sound of slot machine music mixed with dripping water to create an eerie atmosphere. The carpet was wet and wires and broken pipes hung from the ceiling. As he walked though, he had an urge to replay the Bioshock games. Maybe he would do that when he got home, if they didn’t have more shit in their schedules. Maybe he could get Jin to play. Jin was fun to play horror games with.

Jungkook strolled through the decrepit casino, taking in the vines and moss growing up through the cracks in the ground. He felt his phone ringing in his pocket, but didn’t answer it. The casino led into a hotel, in much the same state. Jungkook wondered if there was actually a way out of this place, or if he was doomed to roam around in here forever. He tried to follow the directional signs on the walls until he finally found the exit. Once he got outside, he pulled up the map Namjoon had sent him a few days ago to a wildlife sanctuary. Namjoon had really done his research on it too, which Jungkook was grateful for. It was a non profit, private sanctuary that restricted guests and did other non profit work for the environment. It sounded legit; Jungkook trusted Namjoon’s judgement on this one.

The sanctuary wasn’t far, thankfully, but he’d have to take the train. He didn’t have his wallet, so he’d have to sneak on. Not the first time, but he wasn’t rich back then. Now it was just stupid. As he made his way to the train station, he flipped through the messages on his phone from the group chat. Everyone was expressing varying degrees of surprise and panic. He’d explain later. He also had a message from Misun stating that “The police tried to track you. I’m breaking my phone for you, asshole. You better buy me a new one with your idol money,” then nothing from her afterwards. Jungkook chuckled at that. She was so funny.

Once Jungkook got to the train station, he politely coaxed the marmoset to hide in the backpack, which the monkey was grudgingly agreeable to. Then he put his hood up and pulled a face mask from his pocket. He didn’t need people recognizing him here, and he definitely didn’t need the police recognizing him. When he got to the gates, he waited for the guards to look away before hopping over the turnstiles, then blending into the crowds to board the train.

Jungkook found a seat near the window, gently pulling the backpack off and putting it on his lap. He could feel the marm moving around inside, so he unzipped the backpack a little bit to take a peak. The marm was rummaging through Jungkook’s belongings, pulling a water bottle aside to get at the gold chain in the bottom of the bag.

Jungkook pulled the bag closed as a set of security guards walked by. The train started moving. Both guards eyed him suspiciously as they walked by, swinging their batons. As soon as they moved past, Jungkook let out the breath he’d been holding. That was a close one.

“That was a close one, huh?” Jungkook asked the marm as he peaked back into the bag. The marm blinked up at him. Jungkook scratched his head.

Now all he had to do was wait for his stop. The marm wasn’t having it though. After rummaging through the snack bag three times and coming up with no more grapes, he began to get angry. Jungkook leapt out of his seat and ran to the bathroom. The marm was loudly complaining about this predicament, climbing out of the backpack and throwing carrots around. Jungkook closed them into the tiny bathroom and tried to reason with the marm.

“Hey, hey, hey! Come on man!” Jungkook tried to grab the monkey, but he was jumping all over the bathroom, shrieking and throwing carrots still. Jungkook finally got a hold of him and took the bag of carrots away.

“No! We don’t throw things!” Jungkook scolded, wagging his finger. The marm grabbed his finger and bit it. “Ow!”

Jungkook yanked his finger back. He didn’t know how to handle this situation, so he sat on the closed toilet lid and let the little monkey wear himself out. After about half an hour, the marm had tantrumed himself into a nap on Jungkook’s lap. Even though he was a brat, the little marm sure was cute.

Just as Jungkook was gathering the monkey into his arms to put back into the backpack, someone pounded on the door of the bathroom.

“Hey, what’s going on in there?” someone asked. Whoever it was was rattling the door latch.

“Uhh, yeah, just finishing up in here,” Jungkook said. He zipped the backpack up and slowly opened the door, glancing around at the mess of carrots all over the place. “You might not wanna go in there for a while.”

As Jungkook looked up at the person at the door, he froze. It was a security guard. The guard narrowed his eyes. He was tapping his foot and smacking his baton against his palm.

“Hmmm, you look a little...familiar,” he said. Jungkook lifted his mask up over his nose.

“Really?” Jungkook asked, his voice squeaking a bit. The guard rubbed his chin. Jungkook felt a drop of sweat run down his face.

“Oh! You’re from BTS!” the guard said. “My daughter is a huge fan! You’re her favorite. Can I get a picture or an autograph for her?”

Jungkook let out a sigh of relief. “I can give you an autograph. No picture, sorry,” he said.

The guard pulled out a scrap of paper and Jungkook signed it.

“Thank you so much, my daughter will be so jealous I got to meet you,” he said. Jungkook smiled and nodded. “But wait a second…”

Jungkook froze. The guard narrowed his eyes again.

“Aren’t you... part of that group that had that scandal?” he asked. Jungkook let out a breath.

“No, that wasn’t us,” he said. “We didn’t have any part of that.”

“Oh okay,” the guard nodded and turned to walk away. “Wait a second! You’re that kid the police are after! And you didn’t pay your train fee, did you?”

Jungkook turned and ran.

“Hey! Get back here!” the guard shouted. Jungkook bolted down the center aisle of the train car, the guard trying and failing to keep up. Jungkook ran through car after car until he reached the very back. The door was locked. He could see the tracks streaming behind them through the little window.

He had lost the guard, but he could hear the man yelling and catching up. The marmoset unzipped the backpack from the inside and climbed up onto Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, we’re gonna get out of here,” said Jungkook. This train car was full of luggage, which Jungkook was thankful for. He didn’t need any passengers around to see him. Jungkook pulled the monkey off of his shoulder and placed the marm onto a nearby suitcase. Then he braced himself and kicked the door with all his might. It didn’t budge. It was a slide door, not a swing door. Jungkook wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

The door at the other side of the car opened up and the guard came through. The man was huffing and puffing, trying to catch his breath.

“Just turn yourself in, kid,” the man said. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You can just let me go,” said Jungkook. “I’m doing the right thing here. You can just pretend you didn’t see me.”

“No can do, son,” said the guard. He lifted his baton and came at Jungkook swinging, but Jungkook was faster. He ducked fast and then came back up with an elbow. He hit the man square in the jaw, knocking him out cold. Jungkook grabbed the guy and lowered him to the ground.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. Then he went back to the door to try to figure out how to open it. The marm was chittering on the ground next to the guard. Jungkook looked over at him. The monkey was tugging at a ring of keys on the man’s belt.

“Genius! You’re a genius,”  Jungkook said, unclipping the keys and flipping through them. He finally found the right one and opened the door. Jungkook held out an arm and the marmoset jumped over to him, taking his spot back on his shoulder.

“Hold on tight, marm,” said Jungkook. He swung out the door and started climbing the metal ladder to the roof of the train. The wind whipped past and the monkey almost lost his grip. Jungkook grabbed the marm and held him close as they trekked across the top of the train. Their stop was coming up. The train was slowing down as it neared the station. Jungkook knew that he had to get off before they got to the station, so the guards wouldn’t see him. He just didn’t know how. He’s never jumped off of a moving train before. God, if the guys knew what he was about to do, they’d have a fit.

He waited for the train to slow down enough, then relayed the plan to the marm.

“We’re gonna jump, okay?” he said. “You’re good at jumping.”

Their train car was approaching a tree. Jungkook prepared to throw the marm. He didn’t want to do this; if anything ever happened to this monkey, he would kill everyone and then himself. But he also knew that this was kind of what monkeys were made for. So he tossed the marm to the tree as it passed. It looked like he caught a branch, but Jungkook didn’t stick around to make sure. He jumped for the gravel, his feet hitting quick before he launched into several rolls. It was painful, the rocks digging into his back and shoulders as he rolled, but at least nothing was broken or sprained.

Then he leapt to his feet and ran for the tree. Jungkook only had to open his arms and the marm jumped to him.

“I’m sorry little guy!” he said. The marm was hugging him tightly and Jungkook had to pry him off to look him over. He didn’t seem to be harmed at all, which was good because if he was, Jungkook would have lost it.

“We’re not gonna do that again,” Jungkook said as they walked away from the train station. “That was way too risky.”

The marm chirped in response and took his place back on Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook pulled out his phone, whose screen was only a little cracked from the jump, and pulled up the map. The sanctuary was close. The thought of the place made his stomach turn a bit, but a mission was a mission. He walked through the forest, taking his time as the sun began to set. The closer he got, the sicker he felt.

The sanctuary was in the woods, consisting of one small building and then fenced in land behind it. When Jungkook arrived, he went in through the door and found himself in a reception area.

“Hi, how can I help you?” asked the receptionist. She looked like a nice girl, but Jungkook kind of felt like running out of here as fast as he could. And maybe throwing up a little bit.

“Are you okay sir?” she asked. Through his anxious thoughts, he found it weird that she was calling him ‘sir’. She was probably older than him. Maybe.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m here to…” abandon this monkey like an absolute monster. Was he really going to leave this monkey here, all alone, after everything they’ve been through? He could feel the marm’s little hands holding onto his hair. He began tearing up just thinking about it.

“Actually, I don’t think I can…” Jungkook began. The receptionist looked at him, concerned and a little alarmed. “I’ll be back another time. Do you have any pamphlets or something about proper marmoset care?”

She smiled and said, “I’ll print something off for you.”

Jungkook slumped into one of the chairs by the desk as the receptionist, Byeol, as her name tag read, typed away on her computer. Jungkook pet the marm as he let the anxiety roll through him.

“They’re not supposed to be kept as pets though…” Jungkook mumbled.

“No, but he’s already been domesticated, so it’s not like he can go back into the wild. He’ll probably be better off with you, since he seems to be pretty attached. A lot of times, when people leave their pets here, they get anxiety about being abandoned, even if they’re better off,” Byeol said. “Don’t feel too guilty about it. Where did you get him?”

“My uncle. He has a lot of exotic pets. I’m trying to get them all better homes because my uncle is an asshole,” said Jungkook. Byeol laughed.

“I’m sure he’ll be better off with you than anywhere else,” she said. “We’d take care of him here, too, of course.”

“But I’ll miss him,” said Jungkook, pouting and looking down at the marm in his lap. “I can’t leave him.”

The printer in the corner of the office whirred to life and printed off a few sheets of paper. Byeol got up and grabbed them, stapling them together and handing them to Jungkook.

“Email us if you have any other questions, but you should be okay,” she said. “I’d like to know how he’s doing though.”

Jungkook stood up and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be back with other animals. I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

He nodded to her and walked out. Standing outside in front of the building, he fiddled with his phone, wondering what his hyungs are going to think when he comes home with a monkey. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. In the meantime, he called a taxi to pick him up at the nearest road.

When he got home, Jungkook spent two hours setting up a space for the marm in his room. Even though he had his own fluffy bed, the little guy still slept on Jungkook’s pillow beside him that night.

[fullmetalscullyy]

hit and run - chapter 6

summary: Riza Hawkeye is a thief who is trying to get by in Victorian Central. Hard times fell on her family, tuberculosis claiming her mother and then her father when she was barely a teenager. Now, femme fatale Riza steals to put food on the table for herself, her canine companion - an abandoned puppy who just won’t leave her alone - and two brothers with circumstances similar to her own. However, dipping her hands into the pockets of the rich and famous is always a dangerous game.

rated: m | words: 4630

title: “hit and run” by lolo

read on ao3 and ffnet

“This is it,” his mother stated, sounding rather impressed as she handled the envelope once more. Roy stared at it. This is the information he’d worked for weeks to try and get his hands one. Miss Riza had done it in two days.

She was right, he was hopeless.

“Follow them,” Christmas barked. She gestured with her cigarette to Roy. “Tell Miss Rebecca to stay there for the time being. She will remain by Miss Riza’s side.” Roy was already on his way out the door. “Roy?” she called to him, stopping him in his tracks. “We’ll talk about your little trip into The Vaults when you get back,” she stated, but it sounded like a threat. “Stay with them. Make sure that girl gets all help she needs.”

“Understood,” he replied, a hint of bitterness finding its way into his tone. As he left, behind him he heard his mother command for someone to clean up the mess in her office. Regardless, he was going after them whether the Madame commanded it or not. They’d got Miss Riza into this state. It was the least he could do to make sure he provided aid, especially after seeing that injury.

When Miss Riza had walked into that room he’d been blindsided. He felt the colour drain from his face when he saw the blood. Her black clothing hid it well, but the fabric must have been incredibly saturated because it was dripping through it and onto the floor. Roy felt his heartrate increase, the organ thudding inside his chest. This was the result of his mother’s little test. Someone had gotten hurt. Really hurt.

Roy didn’t understand the Madame’s thought process with this whole thing, and he doubted he never would. It was extreme and Roy didn’t agree with it one bit. Now, look what had happened.

He rushed out the front of the bar, looking left and right down the street to try and find out which direction they would have headed.

“They went this way,” a voice called to him. Roy’s head jerked to the right, finding his partner, Maes Hughes, beckoning him forward. Maes waited then fell into step with Roy instantly as he passed, wasting no time. “That looked bad.”

“It was,” Roy stated, jaw clenching. As they rounded the corner, they spotted three people walking forward. Just as they started jogging to catch up, the person in the middle stumbled, arm jerking out of the others and falling forward.

“Riza!” Miss Rebecca shouted in surprise which spurred Roy on to move even faster. Miss Rebecca grasped her arm again tightly, lifting her friend upright, but Miss Riza’s head lolled forward, slack. She was unconscious.

“What can we do to help?” Roy asked, voice desperate when he saw how pale Miss Riza was. This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good.

Miss Rebecca’s head snapped up to his, eyes hard as she regarding Roy. She wasn’t happy. To be perfectly honest, Roy wasn’t happy with himself either. He’d tried to watch out for her because he knew just how ruthless his mother could be. He’d entered The Vaults on that first night on his own volition, as back up, just in case, because he knew just how awful Kimblee could be. Roy had been following the man for months and he’d seen some terrible things. He didn’t want to subject an unsuspecting person to that.

Now look what had happened.

“I think you’ve done enough, Mustang,” Miss Rebecca replied, voice clipped. She turned to her friend. “We need to go,” she added urgently. The other woman nodded, shifting her grip on Miss Riza so that Miss Rebecca could lift her into her arms.

“I know,” Roy cut in. “And I’m sorry. She needs help, and we can provide it.”

“Just…” Miss Rebecca sighed in frustration. “Stay close and stay quiet.”

Miss Rebecca led them to a crumbling old bank while Miss Riza continued to bleed out on the ground. Every now and then she would groan, and Roy’s gaze would snap to her limp form.

“Hang in there, Riza,” Miss Rebecca would mutter to her friend. “We’re almost home.”

When the five of them strode into a house at the back of the bank Roy was surprised to see two boys standing by the door waiting for them, eyes wide and worried as they took in the state of Miss Riza.

“What happened?” the one with the short hair asked, horrified.

“Al, get the clean linen and bring it to Riza’s room,” Miss Rebecca ordered. “Ed, grab the first aid kit from the kitchen.” Both boys nodded and dashed off. “Mustang, get in there and remove the bedding.” He nodded and entered Miss Riza’s bedroom, a feeling settling in his stomach that it wasn’t right to be in this woman’s bedroom. However, she was bleeding out partly because of him, so he shoved it down and got to work. He stripped the bed in record time so Miss Rebecca and her friend could lay Miss Riza down. The latter whimpered as she lay back.

“Riza?” Rebecca called to her, trying to get a response as she hurriedly begun pulling gauze out of the kit the kid called Ed had brought through. Al entered the room and waited for his instructions, his arms full of clean linen. “Riza, can you hear me?”

She groaned on the bed and tried to roll, whining when her wound stretched.

“Easy,” the other woman soothed her, stroking her forehead. “We’ve got you. Just relax, Riza. You’re okay.”

“No… The boys…”

“They’re okay. They’re safe,” the woman reassured her.

“Gracia, take this,” Miss Rebecca commanded, handing the previously nameless woman a strip of linen. “Tie it around her torso,” she advised quietly. “Then do it again but tie it around the bed. You two.” She snapped her fingers at Roy and Hughes. “Get over here and help Gracia.” They both jumped into action, helping the woman tie the bedsheet around Miss Riza’s midsection so she was restrained to the bed.

Roy swallowed. He didn’t like the look of this.

“Gracia, get the shoulders,” Miss Rebecca requested softly. “Mustang,” she barked, voice harsher. “Get her legs. Hughes, her arms.”

“What do you need us to do?” Mustang asked uncertainly.

“The blade was poisoned.” His stomach dropped. “I need to draw it out and it will hurt like hell.” Roy swallowed, readying himself to restrain Miss Riza so Miss Rebecca could help her. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice it earlier,” Miss Rebecca muttered under her breath, speaking to herself.

“Riza,” Miss Rebecca called to the patient again. “Riza, the blade was poisoned.” Miss Riza whimpered underneath Miss Rebecca’s hands as she readied a syringe. “It will just be like out east, okay? Same as before. Just try and stay as still as you can, okay? I know it will be hard, but you have to try.”

Miss Riza nodded, and Roy felt his heart sink.

“This has happened before?” Hughes asked quietly.

Both women ignored him. Miss Gracia removed her hand from Miss Riza’s forehead and took another piece of cloth from Al’s outstretched hands. She placed it in Miss Riza’s mouth and that’s when Roy realised it was to try and muffle her screams.

His guilt increased tenfold.

Miss Rebecca lowered the syringe and he felt Miss Riza’s body tense underneath his hands. She began to shake, and Roy’s hands clamped down on her ankles, restraining her so Miss Rebecca could do her job. Her breathing increased, chest heaving as low whines begun to leave her throat.

“I know, Riza, I know,” Miss Rebecca soothed loudly over the sound of her pain. “Just hang in there.”

The whines turned into muffled screams the longer Miss Rebecca worked and it was becoming more and more difficult as Miss Riza began to thrash on the bed, her legs trying to kick wildly and her shoulders bucking on the mattress.

“Riza, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Miss Gracia reassured her, tears in her eyes while clamping down on Miss Riza’s shoulders with a forearm pressed across her body, just below the neck. Her now free hand was placed on her forehead, stroking the skin to soothe her. “Not much longer.”

Miss Rebecca’s syringe was filling up with a sickeningly green liquid, but it had still only drawn a small amount. The process seemed to last forever, and Roy felt his heart break for the woman suffering before them.

“There, done! Riza, I’m done, relax.” Rebecca carefully placed the syringe of offending green liquid down on the metal tray beside her then carelessly removed her gloves, tossing them to the side. She joined Miss Gracia and placed a hand on her forehead. “It’s out of you now. You’re going to be okay.”

Miss Riza’s body sagged, exhausted, underneath their hands. Her screams died down to sobs, body shaking as she cried after the pain. Roy wanted nothing more than to soothe her like her friends were doing, but he was the enemy.

You had a hand in this.

Both he and Hughes shared a look and slipped out the room, giving them some privacy as Riza continued to cry. The gag had been removed and the sound tore at Roy’s chest with guilt.

They stood waiting in the main room of the house and jumped when Miss Rebecca came storming out, the bedroom door banging loudly against the wall next to it.

“What were you doing these past few days, getting involved with Riza?” she accused.

“I was looking out for her,” he hissed, his anger coming into play sooner than he thought. He’d been trying to do the right thing, but no one seemed to believe him. They all thought he was intentionally trying to kill Miss Riza.

“And look where that got her,” Miss Rebecca replied venomously. “This is your fault. And your mother’s too,” she spat. “We’ve seen that poison before out east. It’s your mother’s poison. I only found that out a few weeks ago. I’ve almost lost Riza twice now, to your mother.” Her glare was cutting through him, giving no mercy. “Stay away from us from now on. Your help has been nothing but a curse.”

“You know what she’s like,” Roy reminded Miss Rebecca. “You know how relentless she is. I was trying to protect her, and she pushed me away –”

“Gee, I wonder why?” Miss Rebecca cried sarcastically. “She obviously pushed you away with good reason. This is just proof of it. Her instincts are very good. But you kept on coming back and look where we ended up. You, perfectly fine, but my friend, my sister, lying, dying, on her bed. Great help you were,” Miss Rebecca scoffed.

“Becca?” a quiet rasp interrupted their argument. Roy was left reeling after hearing her words because of course, Miss Rebecca was absolutely right.

He was useless. He couldn’t even protect people from his own mother. He loved his mother, but she pushed, and pushed, and pushed, resulting in things like this happening. For too long Roy had seen it happen and the one time he decided to step in and stand up for the new recruit, he ruined it.

Fucking useless.

“Riza?” Miss Rebecca asked surprised, whirling on the spot and rushing back into the room.

“Leave it,” she whispered. Miss Rebecca huffed in response but didn’t argue. Roy was surprised. “He’s not worth it.”

Despite it being like a punch to the gut, Roy supposed that was fair.

“Come on,” Hughes urged quietly beside him. “Let’s go.” The two men turned and left the room, facing the glares of two teenagers as they left.

“Boys?” a voice suddenly asked. Miss Gracia appeared as if from nowhere with more gauze in her hands. “Can you take these through to Becca?” With one last glare at the two men, they entered Miss Riza’s bedroom and closed the door behind them. “They’re very protective of each other, and with good reason,” Miss Gracia explained, looking at the closed door. She turned to face to two of them, expression hard. “I don’t sympathise with you because you knew exactly what the Madame was capable of but never warned Riza –”

“Neither did Miss Rebecca,” Roy reminded her.

Miss Gracia frowned further. “Riza called upon us yesterday to help with the lift tonight. We didn’t exactly have all the time in the world together.”

Roy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Miss Gracia regarded him for a minute then nodded. “Thank you.”

“What do we do?” Hughes asked quietly as they walked down towards the street.

“Go and report back to the Madame. Tell her what we need to help Miss Riza. I’ll keep watch.”

“Right. Stay safe, Mustang.”

“You too.”

Hughes took off down the street at a run. Roy watched him go, then turned his head to look at the roof of their home, trying to discern the easiest way to scale the building.

While alone on that rooftop, Roy had planned on thinking of a way to try and make this up to Miss Riza after everything his family had put her through, but he was distracted by the voices from the room below. No matter where he went on the roof, there was no escaping it. So, he had to listen to Miss Riza’s whimpers and cries of pain, increasing his guilt even more.

“It hurts,” she whimpered to Miss Rebecca, who shushed her, trying to soothe Miss Riza’s suffering.

“If I die,” she’d murmured. Roy’s stomach tensed and he had to strain to hear them. “Promise me –”

“You’re not going to die,” Miss Rebecca vowed vehemently.

“Riza,” came Miss Gracia’s voice, much calmer. “You’ll be fine.”

“If I die,” she continued, stressing her point as her voice wobbled with emotion. “Promise me you’ll take care of the boys.”

Miss Rebecca sighed. “Riza –”

“Promise me,” she begged, voice desperate.

“Okay, I promise. They won’t go hungry and I’ll keep them safe.”

“Keep them away from the Underworld if you can,” Miss Riza added. “I don’t want that life for them. They’re too good for it.”

“Okay, I promise,” Miss Rebecca reassured her, voice softening. “But I won’t have to do a damn thing, because you’ll be there to do it yourself.”

“Thank you,” Miss Riza whispered, voice sincere.

Roy watched as Hughes approached the door, hearing the knock from on top of the roof. He handed over the medicine for Miss Riza, hearing Miss Rebecca’s cold tone thanking him for it. As he left, he gave Roy nod over his shoulder, which he returned. He’d already told Hughes he would remain here for the night, keeping watch. It was the least he could do. He didn’t plan on telling anyone in the house below him. He wasn’t looking for thanks or praise, Roy was just looking to do the right thing for a change.

He’d been unintentionally dozing around the four o’clock mark, but had been startled awake, senses instantly alert as he heard rock shifting in the rubble behind the house. Everyone below was quiet and probably asleep, Roy hadn’t heard a peep for the last three hours, so it wouldn’t be them.

Peering over the edge, he spotted two figures dressed in black with their faces covered, each wielding a knife.

“This is it,” a man murmured.

“Plant the charges.”

Roy’s eyes widened.

Slipping his knife out the sheath, he turned and sprinted soundlessly to the front side of the roof, shimmying down the drainpipe he’d used to get up there. Rounding the back of the house, he crouched low to watch their movements. Despite being useless at the thieving stuff, Roy was one of the best fighters in his mother’s network, and he took pride in that fact. He didn’t want to take a life, but if it meant protecting those he cared about and the innocent, he would do it.

One was crouched by the door, placing something on the ground. Roy had a pretty good idea who had sent them here, given they were using explosives.

Kimblee.

Roy wouldn’t let them blow up this house. No way in hell.

He pounced on the closest assailant, the man dodging at the last second, but not before Roy lunged and managed to slice his thigh. He cried out in pain and staggered backwards while the other descended on Roy mercilessly. Good. He needed to burn off some frustration and anger towards Kimblee. This would do nicely.

The first man re-joined the fight while his partner fell back, hand reaching out blindly. Roy dodged, but the blade cut into the skin of his cheek, leaving a shallow cut on his cheekbone. Roy hissed in pain, lashing out with a well-aimed strike, slicing the skin of the man’s side. He cried out, doubling over as his body instinctively curved in on itself to protect the wounded area. Roy slammed the pommel of his knife into the man’s head, knocking him flat to the ground, unconscious, right as the other assailant lunge for his face. Roy bent back, his lower back protesting at the sudden and jarring movement. Roy grabbed the man’s wrist, incapacitating him then pulling him towards his body so Roy was right in his face.

“Who sent you?” he hissed while the man smirked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Roy spun, slamming the man’s back hard against the brick wall of the house. He gasped in pain, eyes popping open in surprise. “Tell me!” he barked.

“Mustang?” he heard Miss Rebecca call, sounding extremely surprised, from his left. He didn’t dare take his eye of the assailant, but he heard a blade being unsheathed.

The man chuckled but offered no further answer. Roy slammed him against the wall again, even harder, causing him to gasp in pain. Right then, the assailant’s hand shot forward and Roy dodged instinctively, expecting a knife, but there was nothing in it. Right as he landed his dodge, a concealed throwing knife was whipped out from his sleeve and the man moved again, stabbing Roy in the side. He’d just moved out the way, so had no momentum to keep moving to dodge the second attack.

A dirty, but smart strategy.

Roy cried out, his hold on the man weakening. With a smirk, the assailant slipped away as Roy reached for his side, but he didn’t get far. Roy grabbed him by his collar, slamming him down on the ground.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Roy warned after pinning the man with a knee on his chest and another pressing down hard on his elbow. His voice strained from the affects of his injury. His side throbbed, the knife still lodged in there. “Who sent you?” Roy pulled the knife out, the blade slick with his blood, and grunted in pain, throwing the weapon on the ground by the assailant’s head. The man stared wide eyed up at Roy, eyes terrified, obviously not expecting to be caught again.

“Wh – What?” he asked, baffled that Roy wasn’t on the ground by now. It would take more than a tiny knife to stop him.

“Who?” Roy roared, tired of all the beating around the bush. He was irritable, bleeding, and running on very little sleep.

“Ki – Kimblee,” the assailant stuttered, horrified at his very probable demise.

“Are there any more coming?” Roy asked through clenched teeth, bringing a hand to his side again to try and staunch the flow of blood.

“Y – Yes. Two more groups of two.”

“Thank you,” Roy stated graciously, slamming the pommel of his knife into the man’s head to knock him unconscious like his friend.

He stood shakily, hand still on his side, and found Miss Rebecca and Miss Gracia by the door to the house, blades unsheathed and ready to fight, but still looking surprised by Roy’s appearance.

“We need to move,” he told them, approaching the house.

There were obviously questions they wanted to ask but recognised the urgency of the situation. As he entered the door, an arrow hit the back of it, an inch away from his head. Roy kicked the door closed and backed up, seeing another splinter the wood and appear through to the other side.

Miss Gracia and Miss Rebecca were equipped and out the house in seconds to fight and protect Miss Riza.

Roy stumbled into Miss Riza’s bedroom, his vision filling with stars for a brief second. The two teenagers jumped up, defensive an equipped with a glare. Roy ignored them, eyes finding Miss Riza. “We need to go,” he told them.

“Why?” Edward asked. Alphonse watched on, his glare not as intense as his brother’s, but he was still cautious. Smart boy.

“There are men outside trying to kill us, that’s why,” Roy snapped. He strode over to Miss Riza’s bed but was stopped short by Edward standing in her way.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” he seethed.

“Unless you want to die,” Roy hissed as he glared at the older brother. “You will move and let me help you all get to safety.”

“Ed,” Alphonse urged, begging him to step aside.

“If you hurt her again,” Edward warned.

“I’m well aware kid,” Roy muttered, placing an arm underneath Miss Riza’s back and the other underneath her knees. “You’ll have to get in line for the people who want to kill me after tonight.” Not looking back he lifted Miss Riza and exited the room. He entered the other bedroom, kicking the door the to secret passage he’d noticed when they’d entered earlier. He lived with the Madame Christmas. He could spot a trapdoor from a mile away.

“Help me with this,” he barked to the brothers, turning in place then wincing as his side smarted. They didn’t need to be told twice. Roy carried Miss Riza down the stairs and far into the tunnel so that if the others did manage to plant more charges and set them off, she would be far enough to be out of harm’s way.

“Stay here,” Roy ordered lowly to the two brothers. “I’m going back to help the other two.”

“But… you’re hurt!” Alphonse exclaimed.

“They need the backup and it’s the least I can do for all that I’ve brought upon you all so far. Stay here, stay quiet, and stay hidden,” he commanded, turning and running back to the house.

The tunnel had multiple routes going snaking off from the main entrance. He’d taken the centre one because statistically, it would be the most likely the other two women would take if they were fleeing the scene.

However, before he could reach the bottom of the wooden stairs, they splintered before his eyes, the wood hitting his face and hands, a blast sending him flying backwards to land roughly on the hard ground.

He rolled onto his stomach, pushing up onto his hands and knees with his ears ringing, head throbbing, and vision failing. Shaking his head to try and rid it of the sound of ringing, Roy failed to do so. He blinked furiously, but his vision continued to blur and double.

Somehow, he managed to get to his feet, a hand placed on the dirt wall to steady himself. As he pulled his hand away, the wall crumbled underneath his hand, the shock of the explosion shaking the very ceiling above him. At any minute it could collapse on top of Roy but all he could think of was going back to help Miss Gracia and Miss Rebecca.

He took one step onto the barely-there steps before a foot struck his chest, sending him flying backwards. Landing roughly again, Roy coughed and wheezed to try and get air back into his winded lungs. His vision was nothing but light and dark shapes, so he had no idea who was going to kill him. His head rolled to the side, still disorientated, but the pain he expected never came. Instead, he passed out on the dirt while shapes still danced above him.

Roy’s eyes popped open again and with a gasp, he sat up sharply. He groaned in pain while his side protested at the movement, his head thumping after the explosion, and his cheek smarting.

“Hey,” Miss Rebecca greeted, voice holding none of the hostility it had done previously when they’d conversed before.

Roy winced, bringing a hand to his side, but he discovered a softness above it. Cracking open an eye, he lifted his shirt and found it had been bandaged up.

“How long was I out for?” he asked, shifting in place. They were still in the tunnel. The light was limited, only coming from a flaming torch Edward held up in his hands. Looking around, everyone was accounted for. Miss Gracia and Miss Rebecca sat on either side of Miss Riza, who was unconscious. Edward and Alphonse sat across from them in the cramped tunnel, eyes regarding Roy.

“About an hour,” Miss Rebecca answered. “I patched up your side.”

“Thanks,” he replied, wincing as he moved further and leaned heavily against the dirt wall. “Are we stuck?” he asked.

“The house is gone,” Miss Gracia stated softly. “The ceiling caved in after another explosion, but luckily we were already far enough in.”

Then, Roy realised they must have moved him further in, because he was right at the bottom of those stairs. He was grateful they hadn’t left him behind despite all he had put them through.

“Why were you at the house?” Miss Rebecca asked curiously. Again, the hostility was gone.

“I was on look out.” Roy closed his eyes against the pain. It was better than it had been an hour ago, but his head was pounding, and the flickering flames were taking a toll on him. Talking wasn’t much better.

“We didn’t ask you to,” Miss Rebecca offered softly.

“No,” he stated during a sigh, finally finding comfort. “But I wanted to. Just in case.”

“You were looking out for us,” Miss Gracia stated, and Roy nodded as if to answer it as a question.

“It was the least I could do.”

“Why did you come back? Before the explosion?”

Roy sighed again with eyes still closed. He winced as the movement of his ribcage stretched the skin on his side. He thought the answer to that question would be obvious.

“I never leave anyone behind,” he replied, opening his eyes to look at the four curious gazes. “I’m shit as a thief, that much has been proved already, but I’m a good fighter. I came back to provide back-up. I couldn’t leave you two to face them alone.”

The area went quiet again and Roy rested his head back against the dirt wall.

“Thank you,” Miss Gracia offered sincerely, voice kind.

“Yeah, thanks, Mustang. We… appreciate it.” Miss Rebecca’s thanks were also sincere, and Roy appreciated that too.

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbled.

“We’ll rest here for another hour then we need to go,” Miss Gracia stated. “Mr. Mustang is too injured to move right now.”

“I’m fine –”

“You were stabbed,” Miss Rebecca reminded him.

“I’m aware of that,” he replied.

“We will rest here,” Miss Gracia reiterated, giving Roy a pointed look, not taking no for an answer.

Silence descended on the group once more and Roy was thankful for it, his head still pounding.

“It’s Roy,” he muttered suddenly.

“What?” Edward asked after a pause.

“I’m not Mr. Mustang,” he elaborated. “It’s just Roy.”

“Same goes for us,” Miss Rebecca stated. “I’m not worth of the title Miss,” she chuckled.

Roy nodded, taking note of her amusement and even smiling briefly himself. “Noted.”

Well, at least they weren’t looking at him like they wanted to kill him anymore.

[kyliehorsegirl]

Don’t Be Afraid of Me (Michael Langdon x Reader) REQUEST

A/N: I’m sorry for the delay on some of your requests. Work has been crazy! I want to make sure I dont rush the stories as well. Hope you guys enjoy.

Requested By: @dontblinkangelsinside ‘During the time of murder house Michael has a friend, she finds out about his powers and thinks they are cool at first, then she finds out about him being the antichrist and leaves. Then during apocalypse they meet again’

Warnings: None really

Word Count: 1904

*************

After Constance died, Michael was sad and lonely, most of the spirits in the house wanted nothing to do with him. Ben tried his whole father thing but Michael needed more. He met Y/n right before Constance killed herself. She was a young girl in the neighborhood that he was drawn to. He never had friends before.

 He would follow her around like a lost puppy that needed comfort. She was happy to give it to him. Her home life was nothing special, a burn out dad and a busy working mom. Y/n basically had free reign to do what she wanted. She spent a lot of time with him, but she never picked up on the weird behaviors. He always wanted to bring her dead things, but he managed to keep that at bay, at least with Y/n. It didn’t stop him from gifting his grandmother with carcasses. She started to notice all the roses in the garden, but never mentioned it.

 He really liked her. He wanted to show her who he really was.

 “Don’t freak out ok?” He said one day, they were outside hanging out when he revealed on of his powers. He made fire. She was scared at first but thought it was super cool. Over time he showed her a few more things he learned how to do. Michael had ways about him that seemed innocent and childish. For the age she thought he was, she found it odd.

 After Constance died Michael chose to stay at murder house, waiting for her ghost to appear. Ben showed up, explaining how that wouldn’t happen. Ben did however, take him under his wing. Michael graved the parenting, the attention, the love. Y/n had walked up the steps of murder house, hoping to find him. He beamed up at her as he opened the door, welcoming her in.

 He gave her an innocent tour of the house. None of the spirits showed themselves to her. Ben allowed her to see him, he felt like Y/n was good for Michael. Y/n had seen the interaction between Michael and ‘Tate’. To say it was awkward was an understatement. Y/n was extremely uncomfortable as Ben held back Tate as he screamed obscenities at Michael.

 “I just wanted to be like you dad.” Y/n had never seen him so vulnerable. He looked so broken hearted. Tate screamed at him, saying Michael didn’t come from him, that he couldn’t produce such an evil bastard. Ben escorted Tate out of the room as Michael launched himself onto his bed sobbing.

 Y/n approached him with caution, placing a comforting hand on his back. She rubbed his back as his body shook, crying. She hushed him as he cried. He moved to lay his head in her lap. All she saw was a broken little boy.

Y/n and Michael had to hide when a couple purchased the house. Michael had disappeared somewhere without warning. She quietly looked around for him. She rounded a corner to see a man in a rubber suit standing in front of the couple. Their screams echoed loudly through the empty house. Y/n watched as they died right in front of her. Ben appeared, yelling at the rubber man. He took off his mask and revealed that it was Michael. Y/n clasps a hand over her mouth.

 She saw pure anger as his eyes rolled back, the couple had become spirits like other occupants of the house. Michael turns his hands out as the spirits burned to ash. He made them cease to exist. She was shaking, scared for her life. Ben screamed at Michael, saying how he shouldn’t have helped him, it was a waste of time.

 Michael collapsed by the couch and cried. Feeling for him, even though she shouldn’t, she came out from around the corner, approaching him carefully. He looks to her with tears in his eyes, they show relief?

 “D-don’t be afraid of me, I’m not going to hurt you.” He stuttered out. She slowly kneeled beside him and wrapped him in a caring embrace.

 She was always cautious around him, watching his every move. He wanted her everywhere with him, with him at all times. She became a bit more uncomfortable when he begged for her to sleep in bed with him. She consented allowing him to nestle himself in her curves. From behind, she wrapped her arms around him, his head resting on her arm. He was so vulnerable, she couldn’t help but hold him like the little spoon he was.

 Everything seemed fine, they were getting along well, Michael had gotten very clingy with her, holding her hand, playing with her hair, nuzzling into her neck.

 The Satanists came, and that changed everything. Three people came into their home unannounced. Y/n and Michael descended the stairs, holding Y/n’s hand. They both were rubbing the tired from their eyes. Y/n squeezed his hand tighter, getting nervous at the intruders.

 They were babbling about how they have waited for him and he was their Lord and Savior, son of Satan. Y/n was scarred and wanted to leave. He held onto her hand too tight, causing her to whimper.

 They had set up a sacrifice alter. Michael was in his boxers, covered by a cape. Y/n stood in the far corner of the room with a sickening feeling. The strange people brought a young girl and tied her to the table.  Y/n’s face scrunched up in fear and disgust. The leader kissed the girl before plunging a knife into her chest and removing her heart.

 He offered the heart to Michael, he grabbed it and brought it to his lips. Y/n’s eyes go wide as she sees him take a bite of the young girl’s heart. An ominous figure shadows behind him. The Satanists bow to Michael praising ‘Hail Satan’ over and over.

 Y/n packs the few things she kept at murder house in an effort to flee while Michael was distracted. She should have seen this coming. The powers, that couple and now this? It was too much for her.

 “Where are you going.” She whips around to see Michael looking innocent as ever as he cocks his head at her. She almost gave into him, almost.

 “I can’t be here anymore Michael, I’m leaving.” She threw her bag over her shoulder and looked at him. Her eyes grew puffy, trying to hold in her tears. She was afraid to leave him alone and afraid of him.

 “You can’t leave me.” He took a step forward, his voice shaky.

 “I’m sorry Michael.” She ran past him and left the house. He screamed and fell to the ground.

 *

*

*

*

*

 *Several Years Later*

 Y/n was dragged out of her home kicking and screaming by guards dressed in all black. She was shoved into a military vehicle. Scared out of her wits, she wrapped arms around herself comfortingly.

 She was roughly taken out of the car after being forced to wear a hazmat suit. They hosed the radiation off her. She was greeted by a chaste woman, Wilhelmina Venable.

 A few hours later, she was dressed head to toe in Victorian attire. She could barely breathe with the corset on.

 She met the occupants, some very odd people. She was a purple, what she had learned was these other people, aside from a boy and a girl who where yanked from their home like her, paid their way to be here, $100,000,000 that is.

 Days went on and on in a never-ending cycle, the same song, the same gelatin dinner. She would talk with Emily and Mallory, everyone else was, drama.

 One month.

 Three months.

 Six months. The same songs, the same food.

 One year.

 18 months, 18 months later. There was a perimeter breach that caused an uproar. Emily had demanded Ms. Venable to tell them who was in her office.  Soon after, during their time in the sitting room. A regal man presented himself. He walked slow and menacingly. He was dressed in black Victorian clothes, his hair long gold locks. Y/n only saw the back of his head, wondering who this mysterious man could be.

 He looks to Venable, excusing her from her spot at attention. It wasn’t until he fully turned, Y/n knew exactly who he was.

 “My name is Langdon and I represent the cooperative.” His voice was deeper, more confident and authoritative. He wasn’t her scared, innocent boy anymore. Did she do this?

His face was mature and strong, it had hardened over the years. His eyes were accented with red eye shadow. It hid his beautiful blue eyes that she remembered. Her heart was caught in her throat.

 He spoke confidently as he had the attention of everyone in the room. He would make small lances to Y/n, causing her to clench her jaw with anxiety. She didn’t know how to feel, he was obviously more dangerous than when she left him. Was this her fault?

 He explained how humanity was at the brink of extinction, but there was a place he could take people to repopulate. Most questioned were answered with a harsh ‘classified’. He explained how the interview process would only take a few days and if anyone refused to interview, they could die.

 Gallant volunteered as tribute. Y/n watched as each person went in for their interview. Her knee bounced up and down with anxiety. Did he remember her? Was he going to kill her? All of the questions ran through her head before someone came to bring her to Langdon’s office for her interview.

 She hesitantly walked through the door seeing him seated in a chair by the fireplace. His ankle atop his knee and his head rested on his hand. He watched her intently as she entered the room. She stood by the chair across from him, unsure of what to do.

 He stared at her for awhile watching her intently. He got up and took a few steps to get in front of her. She held her breath, looking in those eyes she remembered. She gasps as he pulls her into a hug, a hand on her waist and the other on the back of her head, bringing it to his chest. He then takes a long sigh and rests his chin on top of her head.

 “I’m glad you’re ok.” His voice was a soft whisper. She lets out air she didn’t realize she was holding. He strokes her hair and runs his hand up and down her back. She relaxes and all the tension leaves her shoulders. Before she could say what she was thinking, he interrupted her.

 “I forgive you for leaving me.” She winced at the subtle bite at the end. “I know we were you an you were scared, I understand. I still had to make sure you stayed safe, that’s why I had my men bring you here.” She lifts her head to look at him, his face dangerously close to hers.

 “I shouldn’t have left you, I’m, I’m so sorry Michael.” She said shakily, afraid of what he might do.

 “Don’t be afraid of me Y/n, I’m not going to hurt you.” He leans in an places a kiss on her lips. Things are different now, they are different now. He pulled away and held her tightly, gripping her hips.

 “I’m not going to let you go again.”

************

Hope you enjoyed!

MASTERLIST

Taglist

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[superwolfiestar]

Across Another Dimension Ch.35

The gang walked into the parlor and, despite have creepy gargoyle-like candle holders, had a very nice vintage-style to it and even had four paintings: a brunette-southern belle female rabbit holding a parasol, a middle-aged gentleman duck with a pen and document in hand, an elderly fox woman with a rose, and a raccoon man wearing a bowler hat. Each of the group found themselves admiring these portrait, though they could only the upper halves of each.

"Our tour begins here, in this gallery. Here you will see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state."

"Well, I have to admit, these portrait actually look like they should be in a museum." Scrooge commented, observing the portrait of the middle-aged Duck.

This tour didn't seem as frightening, in fact, it felt surprisingly pleasant, despite the fact that the group were inside a haunted Victorian style mansion with the ghost of the previous owner holding them against their will. Even Super Caballeros and the Boy Princess Donald led found themselves enjoying themselves as Panchito mimicked the pose of the raccoon by crossing his arms; causing Donald to giggle at his antics. Things started to take a drastic change, however, as they al began to feel something was amiss, but what was it?

"Hey, guys, any of you getting a sinking feeling?" Princess Della asked as a feeling of dread started to work its way in her stomach.

"What do you mean?" Huey asked, when suddenly . . .

"Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis. Is this haunted room actually stretching, or is it your imagination? Hmm?"

True to the Ghost Host's word; the room really was stretching! Not only that, but the portraits were beginning to expand! The group was now allowed to see the full descriptions of each person per portrait. Only, they were starting to wish that they hadn't, for each portrait showed a sight, more hideous than the last. The southern belle with the parasol was revealed to have a slenderly build and wearing a beautiful dress with a lavender upper-shirt from her waist to her neck, pink frilled-shoulders, and a white skirt with green flowery designs that reached about ten inches above her ankle, and pink slip on shoes. What came after that was certainly a shock! As the portrait stopped stretching, they all saw that the young woman was balancing herself, tip-toe on a fraying tightrope . . . which was above the open jaws of a large, vicious-looking alligator!

The portrait with the middle-aged duck wasn't any less shocking than the last as it also showed something when it stopped stretching. Then duck was wearing a white dress-shirt and black long-sleeved tail coat, but that was only his upper-body. While he was wearing black and white leather shoes with socks that matched in color, it was revealed that he was in nothing but his undergarments from the waist down, which would have been hilarious . . . provided if it weren't for the fact that he was standing on a keg of dynamite . . . which was also lit up by a stray candle!

The shock continued on as the portrait of the old fox woman had stopped stretching to reveal something that made them all blood run cold. Her full features included a black funeral-dress with a pink collar, black shoes with grey socks, and a reddish poncho with pink highlights. Her most notable feature being her hair done up in a beehive. It also showed that she was sitting on a tombstone:

Rest

In

Peace

Dearly Departed

GEORGE

Along with a bust of an elderly, balding fox gentleman with a handlebar mustache . . . And a hatchet embedded on the crown of his head!

Last, but certainly not least, the portrait of the raccoon the bowler hat showed that he was wearing a white dress-shirt, black jacket, black slacks, and Italian-looking leather shoes. It was a surprise to see that he was sitting on the shoulders of a middle-aged male mountain goat white short hair and mustache. He wore a white dress-shirt, red suit, brown vest, black bow-tie, red pants, and brown leather shoes. One would think that the red on his face was because of trying to hold up the raccoon sitting on his shoulders, but what came next eliminated that possibility. Below the mountain goat was a younger male mountain lion with neatly combed hair with sideburns that connected to his trimmed goatee. He wore a white dress-shirt, grey vest, black bolo-tie, but that was all that could be seen as the lower half was submerged in quicksand! There was even a sign with the word "QUICKSAND" to point out the obvious.

Despite the horrific acts of macabre they were all in, all four of the wolves smiled pleasantly, as if their lives meant absolutely nothing at all! Needless to say, the group were beyond shocked, but could only show it with raised eyebrows as they turned to share a glance at one another. Their thoughts were interrupted as the Ghost Host decided to speak up at the exact moment.

"And consider this dismaying observation: this chamber has no windows and no doors."

True to his words, the group saw that their point of entry had vanished; leaving them trapped in the stretched-out gallery.

"Which offers you this chilling challenge: TO FIND ANOTHER WAY OUT!"

The Ghost Host then let out a loud, sinister laugh that echoed through the walls, much to the group's discomfort.

"Of course, there's always my way . . ."

". . . Why does that sound so wrong?" Launchpad asked in a quivering voice.

It was at that very moment that the candle lights flickered off; leaving the group in total darkness.

"Hey, who turned out the lights?!" Gyro yelped in shock.

Before anything else flashes of lightning had suddenly illuminated the entire room in strobes; didn't the Ghost Host say there weren't any windows in the room? The group was now starting to think that things possibly couldn't get any worse than they were, now. Well, unfortunately, they were dead (no offense to the long deceased) wrong! The sounds of Boy Princess Donald and Princess Della screaming captured the attention as the rest of the group looked towards the royalties, who were scream up at the . . . ceiling? Before they could be questioned, the group followed where they were screaming at . . . and saw why they were so frightened. There, suspended by the neck with a noose on a now clear cupola above the ceiling, was a skeletal goose corpse of a canine! It was more than likely that this was the long, decomposed body. The group looked on in absolute horror at the hanging corpse for a few seconds as a loud, dreadful scream was heard, until the lightning stopped and the candles lit back up. At first the group thought that the whole ordeal was only hallucinations, but they rethought their assumptions when they saw that they were still in the chamber with the stretched portraits.

"What . . . was that?" Panchito asked as soon as he found his voice.

"He . . . He took the coward's way out . . ." Boy Princess murmured softly, though the room was quiet enough for everyone to hear (and agree).

It took a few seconds for the group to shake of their shock and Panchito found that Jose was holding on to his arm, as was Boy Princess Donald holding onto Jose arm. When they saw how close they were with each other, it was safe to say that both couples were embarrassed by these actions. This caused all four of the youths to blush extremely.

"Oh!" Boy Princess yelped, jumping away from the Super Caballeros.

"Sorry, I . . ." Jose muttered trying to hide his blush.

"I-it's cool." Panchito dismissed, relishing how close to he was to his two lovers.

"No harm done." Boy Princess stated cooly, though he was ready to dance from being close to his two heroes.

Their moment was short-lived as the Ghost Host spoke up like he always did.

"Oh, I didn't mean to frighten you, prematurely."

Again, like he always did, the Ghost Host chuckled sinisterly at his own words.

"Oh yeah, be a spooky-wooky crackerbox, that's so mature." Gyro scoffed bitterly to himself.

"The real chills come later, now, as they say, "Look alive", and we'll continue our little tour. Oh, and let's try to stay together, please."

After his speech was done with, a part of the wall opened up to reveal a small hallway.

"For once, I actually agree with him." Dewey stated, which every nodded.